Poem by Eugene Field

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!

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