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 But still it was a lovely thing Through the grey months to wait for Spring With the birds that go a-gypsying In the parks till the blue seas call. And next to these, you used to care For the lions in Trafalgar Square, Who'll stand and speak for London when her bell of Judgment tolls— And the gulls at Westminster that were The old sea-captains' souls. To-day again the brown tide splashes, step by step, the river stair, And the gulls are there!

By a month we have missed our Day: The children would have hung about Round the carriage and over the way As you and I came out.

We should have stood on the gulls' black cliffs and heard the sea And seen the moon's white track, I would have called, you would have come to me And kissed me back.

You have never done that: I do not know Why I stood staring at your bed And heard you, though you spoke so low. But could not reach your hands, your little head. There was nothing we could not do, you said, And you went, and I let you go!

Now I will burn you back, I will burn you through, Though I am damned for it we two will lie And burn, here where the starlings fly To these white stones from the wet sky—; Dear, you will say this is not I— It would not be you, it would not be you!