Fontana di Trevi

Alfred Austin reconciles himself to loss and loneliness

Why do I sit within the spell Of eyes like thine, who oft have known What 'tis in Beauty's gaze to dwell, And then—to feel alone: Back be remitted to my cell, Too lately near a throne?

What though the moon on Trevi's fount, Whilst we together drink, doth shine, Can it the rural miles remount, Or I subtract from mine? Whilst Time hath scarce begun to count The pleasant paths of thine.

How vain to thus divide its wave! It will not help to blend our own. Thy voice is gay, but mine is grave, As thine too will have grown In days when nought is left thee save A half-remembered tone.

The light that gilds my world no more, But only now just breaks on thine; Thy shadows stretch all bright before, Behind in darkness mine. Leave me my unillumined shore, And in thy lustre shine!

Forth to thy Future, gifted child! Oh, be it fair as thou! As thy sweet tones and temper mild, And cloudless as thy brow; And thou wilt then be reconciled That I am silent now!