Why are thou sad, my Beppo? But last eve, <br /> Here at my feet, thy dear head on my breast, <br />I heard thee say thy heart would no more grieve <br /> Or feel the olden ennui and unrest. <br /> <br />What troubles thee? Am I not all thine own – <br /> I, so long sought, so sighed for and so dear? <br />And do I not live but for thee alone? <br /> “Thou hast seen Lippo, whom I loved last year! ” <br /> <br />Well, what of that? Last year is naught to me – <br /> ‘Tis swallowed in the ocean of the past. <br />Art thou not glad ‘twas Lippo, and not thee, <br /> Whose brief bright day in that great gulf was cast? <br /> <br />Thy day is all before thee. Let no cloud, <br /> Here in the very morn of our delight, <br />Drift up from distant foreign skies, to shroud <br /> Our sun of love whose radiance is so bright. <br /> <br />“Thou art not first? ” Nay, and he who would be <br /> Defeats his own heart’s dearest purpose then. <br />No truer truth was ever told to thee – <br /> Who has loved most, he best can love again. <br /> <br />If Lippo (and not he alone) has taught <br /> The arts that please thee, wherefore art thou sad? <br />Since all my vast love-lore to thee is brought, <br /> Look up and smile, my Beppo, and be glad.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/beppo/
