Persephone in winter-timeLay still, nor gave a thoughtTo the fierce surging tides of flowersHer restless youth had brought.Trapped beyond touch of pain or sorrow,Gaoled in high walls of aquamarine,Her blue eyes veiled from any morrow,She slumbered ... Pluto's queen.
The sharp-toothed conies burrowed downTo find the jonquil maidenSeen dancing through their hillocked townHer bare arms blossom-laden;With frightened eyes, the seekers creptTo nibbled grass again,Telling of how the Ivory slept,Too still, too chill for men.
Only the snake, whose thought strikes coldFrom ancient jewelled eyes,In rings of mottled green and goldSlips round her girdle-wise.Only the stealthy lute-string soundOf hesitant waters underground,Only the ice-blue water-dripsAre secret as her lips.
