Or give you pause to your song.
Perhaps the sweet blossoms may charm the grave's pestilent breath.
Ah! life is so short; so forget and be glad, dear—for death
Is so terribly long.
[THE FLOWERS OF PROSERPINE]
The jewels of the sun are not more rare
Than these that lie upon my lurid halls.
The perfume kiss upon the drowsy air
Is sweet as Spring can hold within her walls.
The spell which night may cast upon her thralls