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Mathilde Blind (Матильда Блайнд) The New Proserpine WHERE, countless as the stars of night, The daisies made a milky way Across fresh lawns, and flecked with light, Old Ilex groves walled round with bay,-- I saw thee stoop, oh lady sweet, And with those pale, frail hands of thine Gather the spring flowers at our feet, Fair as some late-born Proserpine. Yea, gathering flowers, thou might'st have been That goddess of the ethereal brow, Revisiting this radiant scene From realm of dolorous shades below. Thou might'st have been that Queen of Sighs, Love-bound by Hades' dreadful spell; For veiled within thy heaven-blue eyes, There lay the Memory of Hell. Villa Pamfili Doria. Mathilde Blind's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1267 |
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