“She is happy where she lies With the dust upon her eyes.”

“Be to her, Persephone,All the things I might not be;Take her head upon your knee.She that was so proud and wild,Flippant, arrogant and free,She that had no need of me,Is a little lonely childLost in Hell,—Persephone,Take her head upon your knee;Say to her, “My dear, my dear,It is not so dreadful here.”

“SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun ’tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine.”

“Gone, gone again is Summer the lovely. She that knew not where to hide,Is gone again like a jeweled fish from the hand, Is lost on every side.Mute,mute, I make way to the garden, Thither where she last was seen;The heavy foot of the frost is on the flags there, Where her light step has been. Gone, gone again is Summer the lovely,Gone again on every side,Lost again like a shining fish from the hand Into the shadowy tide.”

“She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,And her mouth on a valentine.”

“Lost in Hell,-Persephone,Take her head upon your knee;Say to her, "My dear, my dear,It is not so dreadful here.”

“But she was not made for any man, and she will never be all mine.”