That morning when I trod the town The twitching chimes of long renown Played out to me The sweet Sicilian sailors' tune, And I knew not if late or soon My day would be: A day of sunshine beryl-bright And windless; yea, think as I might, I could not say, Even to within years' measure, when One would be at my side who then Was far away. When hard utilitarian times Had stilled the sweet Saint-Peter's chimes I learnt to see That bale may spring where blisses are, And one desired might be afar Though near to me.