Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)

WHERE art thou gone, light-ankled Youth?

With wing at either shoulder,

And smile that never left thy mouth

Until the hours grew colder:

Then somewhat seem’d to whisper near

That thou and I must part;

I doubted it: I felt no fear,

No weight upon the heart:

If aught befell it, Love was by

And roll’d it off again;

So, if there ever was a sigh,

’Twas not a sigh of pain.

I may not call thee back; but thou

Returnest when the hand

Of gentle Sleep waves o’er my brow

His poppy-crested wand;

Then smiling eyes bend over mine,

Then lips once pressed invite;

But sleep hath given a silent sign,

And both, alas! take flight.