To Cinna
Cinna, the great Venusian told In songs that will not die How in Augustan days of old Your love did glorify His life and all his being seemed Thrilled by that rare incense Till, grudging him the dreams he dreamed, The gods did call you hence. Cinna, I've looked into your eyes, And held your hands in mine, And seen your cheeks in sweet surprise Blush red as Massic wine; Now let the songs in Cinna's praise Be chanted once again, For, oh! alone I walk the ways We walked together then! Perhaps upon some star to-night, So far away in space I cannot see that beacon light Nor feel its soothing grace— Perhaps from that far-distant sphere Her quickened vision seeks For this poor heart of mine that here To its lost Cinna speaks. Then search this heart, beloved eyes, And find it still as true As when in all my boyhood skies My guiding stars were you! Cinna, you know the mystery That is denied to men— Mine is the lot to feel that we Shall elsewhere love again!
Eugene Field’s other poems:
