Explore "Some Verses: Poems: THE FLOWERS OF PROSERPINE" by Helen Hay Whitney on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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 / Is mine; the length of all this gloomy land / Knows no more sun than falls from my white hand.
My wealth great kings have prayed for -- in their pride, / Bowing before me. Nay -- I hate the place. / I am no queen at heart -- my laughter died / That I might wear my crown with regal grace / The very flowers which smile on my sad face / I am afraid of. See! they are the worst / Of all my fears; so fair -- yet black accurst.