Montreal Standard, 1 July 1911, page 14

 

A Pleasant Farewell

 

He said “Good-night,” and he held her hand.

In a hesitating way.

And he hoped that her eyes would understand

What his lips refused to say.

 

He held her hand, and he murmured low:

“I’m sorry to go like this,

It seems so frigidly cold, you know,

This “mister” of ours, and “Miss”

 

“I thought perhaps—-“  and he passed the note

If she seemed inclined to frown;

But the light in her eyes his heart stirrings smote.

As she blushingly looked down.

 

She said no word, but she picked a speck

Of dust  from his coat lapel.

Such a small- such a wee little, tiny fleck.

‘Twas a wonder she saw so well.

 

And it brought her face so very near,

In that dim, uncertain light.

That the thought, unspoken, was made quite clear.

And I knoe ‘twas a sweet goodnight.

 

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