Garden Of Proserpine Songtext

Here where the world is quiet, here where all trouble seems Dead winds and spent waves riot, in doubtful dreams of dreams I watch the green field growing, for reaping folk and sowing For harvest time and mowing, a sleepy world of streams Sorrowed the garden of Proserpine Winged in the garden of Proserpine Crowned in the garden of Proserpine There go the ones that wither, the old ones with wearier wings And all dead years draw thither, and all disastrous things Dead dreams of days forsaken, blind buds that snows have shaken Wild leaves that winds have taken, red strays of ruined springs I am tired of tears and laughter, and men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter, for men that sow to reap I am weary of days and hours, blown buds of barren flowers Desires and dreams of powers, and everything but sleep From too much love of living, from hope and fear set free We thank with brief thanksgiving, whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever, that dead men rise up never That even the weariest river, winds somewhere safe to sea We are not sure of sorrow, and joy was never sure Today will die tomorrow, time stoops to no man?s lure And love grown faint and fretful, with lips but half regretful Sighs and with eyes forgetful, weeps that no loves endure