Dawn

When down grey steps of dawn comes bright Aurora With rosy face and hair of shimmering gold, Resemblance thrills me, till, growing faint and cold, I whisper low: “Nay, surely there is Laura.” Happy Tithonus! You know, to a breath, The time your Sweet will stay; you have no quarrel With fate like mine. When shall I touch my laurel, Twined in his crown of poppies by dumb Death? The parting is but a redoubled gain, When, at the close of one day’s measured pain, You hold her fast again, quite, quite the same. My nights are sad, alas, my days are vain, Because of her who all my thoughts has ta’en, And left me nothing of her but a name.