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Thursday, 14 January 2010

Excerpt from The Garden of Proserpine

The Garden of Proserpine


Here, where the world is quiet ;
     Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot
     In doubtful dreams of dreams ;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
     A sleepy world of streams.
 
I am tired of tears and laughter,
     And men that laugh and weep ;
Of what may come hereafter
     For men that sow to reap :
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
     And everything but sleep.
 

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