Afar away the light that brings cold cheer Unto this wall, - one instant and no more Admitted at my distant palace-door: Afar the flowers of Enna from this drear Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here: Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey That chills me: and afar; how far away, The nights that shall be from the days that were.
*** Behold, this crocus is a withering flame; This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom’s part To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent’s art. Nay, for this spring-flowers, turn thy face from them, Nor stay till on the year’s last lily-stem The white cup shrivels round the golden heart. ***
Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing Strange ways in thought, and listen for a sign: And still some heart unto some soul doth pine, (Whose sounds mine inner sense is fain to bring, Continually together, murmuring,) "Woe's me for thee, unhappy Proserpine!"