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THE EMPTY MIRROR
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But she can never turn to me, and smile,
"You're sure you like it?" from her vantage point
Before that oval of reflected joy.

Spring will return through autumn's yellow ways,
And in the city windows I shall see
The 'broidered silken hose she used to crave,
The filmy lace, the glory of the hats,
The high French heels. . . .
            While I go home
Through streets that waver with old memories
To find, an empty mirror on the wall.