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DEMETER AND PERSEPHONE
21
The man, that only lives and loves an hour,Seem'd nobler than their hard Eternities.My quick tears kill'd the flower, my ravings hush'dThe bird, and lost in utter grief I fail'dTo send my life thro' olive-yard and vineAnd golden grain, my gift to helpless man.Rain-rotten died the wheat, the barley-spearsWere hollow-husk'd, the leaf fell, and the sun,Pale at my grief, drew down before his timeSickening, and Ætna kept her winter snow. Then He, the brother of this Darkness, HeWho still is highest, glancing from his heightOn earth a fruitless fallow, when he miss'dThe wonted steam of sacrifice, the praiseAnd prayer of men, decreed that thou should'st dwellFor nine white moons of each whole year with me,Three dark ones in the shadow with thy King.
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