$title="The Garden of Proserpine"
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      p
        |Here, where the world is quiet,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Here, where all trouble seems<br>
        |Dead winds' and spent waves' riot<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;In doubtful dreams of dreams;<br>
        |I watch the green field growing<br>
        |For reaping folk and sowing,<br>
        |For harvest-time and mowing,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;A sleepy world of streams. <br>
      p
        |I am tired of tears and laughter,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;And men that laugh and weep;<br>
        |Of what may come hereafter<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;For men that sow to reap:<br>
        |I am weary of days and hours,<br>
        |Blown buds of barren flowers,<br>
        |Desires and dreams and powers<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;And everything but sleep. <br>
      p
        |Here life has death for neighbour,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;And far from eye or ear<br>
        |Wan waves and wet winds labour,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Weak ships and spirits steer;<br>
        |They drive adrift, and whither<br>
        |They wot not who make thither;<br>
        |But no such winds blow hither,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;And no such things grow here. <br>
      p
        |No growth of moor or coppice,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;No heather-flower or vine,<br>
        |But bloomless buds of poppies,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Green grapes of Proserpine,<br>
        |Pale beds of blowing rushes,<br>
        |Where no leaf blooms or blushes<br>
        |Save this whereout she crushes<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;For dead men deadly wine. <br>
      p
        |Pale, without name or number,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;In fruitless fields of corn,<br>
        |They bow themselves and slumber<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;All night till light is born;<br>
        |And like a soul belated,<br>
        |In hell and heaven unmated,<br>
        |By cloud and mist abated<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Comes out of darkness morn. <br>
      p
        |Though one were strong as seven,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;He too with death shall dwell,<br>
        |Nor wake with wings in heaven,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor weep for pains in hell;<br>
        |Though one were fair as roses,<br>
        |His beauty clouds and closes;<br>
        |And well though love reposes,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;In the end it is not well. <br>
      p
        |Pale, beyond porch and portal,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Crowned with calm leaves, she stands<br>
        |Who gathers all things mortal<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;With cold immortal hands;<br>
        |Her languid lips are sweeter<br>
        |Than love's who fears to greet her<br>
        |To men that mix and meet her<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;From many times and lands. <br>
      p
        |She waits for each and other,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;She waits for all men born;<br>
        |Forgets the earth her mother,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;The life of fruits and corn;<br>
        |And spring and seed and swallow<br>
        |Take wing for her and follow<br>
        |Where summer song rings hollow<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;And flowers are put to scorn. <br>
      p
        |There go the loves that wither,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;The old loves with wearier wings;<br>
        |And all dead years draw thither,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;And all disastrous things;<br>
        |Dead dreams of days forsaken,<br>
        |Blind buds that snows have shaken,<br>
        |Wild leaves that winds have taken,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Red strays of ruined springs. <br>
      p
        |We are not sure of sorrow,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;And joy was never sure;<br>
        |Today will die tomorrow;<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Time stoops to no man's lure;<br>
        |And love, grown faint and fretful,<br>
        |With lips but half regretful<br>
        |Sighs, and with eyes forgetful<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Weeps that no loves endure. <br>
      p
        |From too much love of living,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;From hope and fear set free,<br>
        |We thank with brief thanksgiving<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Whatever gods may be<br>
        |That no life lives for ever;<br>
        |That dead men rise up never;<br>
        |That even the weariest river<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Winds somewhere safe to sea. <br>
      p
        |Then star nor sun shall waken,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor any change of light:<br>
        |Nor sound of waters shaken,<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor any sound or sight:<br>
        |Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,<br>
        |Nor days nor things diurnal;<br>
        |Only the sleep eternal<br>
        |&nbsp;&nbsp;In an eternal night. <br>
      i - Algernon Charles Swinburne
      p
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