Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Aubrey Thomas De Vere b. 1814To Imperia
T
The die of fate for me is thrown,
And thou art made
No more to me than some resplendent shade
Flung on the canvas by old art divine;
Or vision of shap’d stone;
Or the far glory of some starry sign
Which hath a beauty unapproachable
To aught but sight,—a throne
High in the heavens and out of reach;
Therefore with this low speech
I bid thee now a long and last farewell
Ere I depart, in busy crowds to dwell,
Yet be alone.
Yea, let her servants fondly press
Unto thy feet,
Bearing all sights most fair, all scents most sweet:
Spring, playing with her wreath of budded vine;
Summer, with stately tress
Prink’d with green wheat-ears and the white corn-bine;
And Autumn, crown’d from the yellow forest-tree;
—And Winter, in his dress
Begemm’d with icicles, from snow dead-white
Shooting their wondrous light;
These be thine ever. But I ask of thee
One blessing only to beseech for me,—
Forgetfulness.