That morning when I trod the town

The twitching chimes of long renown

   Played out to me

The sweet Sicilian sailors’ tune,

And I knew not if late or soon

   My day would be:

A day of sunshine beryl-bright

And windless; yea, think as I might,

   I could not say,

Even to within years’ measure, when

One would be at my side who then

   Was far away.

When hard utilitarian times

Had stilled the sweet Saint-Peter’s chimes

   I learnt to see

That bale may spring where blisses are,

And one desired might be afar

   Though near to me.