WHERE, countless as the stars of night, <br />The daisies made a milky way <br />Across fresh lawns, and flecked with light, <br />Old Ilex groves walled round with bay,-- <br /> <br />I saw thee stoop, oh lady sweet, <br />And with those pale, frail hands of thine <br />Gather the spring flowers at our feet, <br />Fair as some late-born Proserpine. <br /> <br />Yea, gathering flowers, thou might'st have been <br />That goddess of the ethereal brow, <br />Revisiting this radiant scene <br />From realm of dolorous shades below. <br /> <br />Thou might'st have been that Queen of Sighs, <br />Love-bound by Hades' dreadful spell; <br />For veiled within thy heaven-blue eyes, <br />There lay the Memory of Hell. <br />Villa Pamfili Doria.<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-new-proserpine/
