Afar away the light that brings cold cheer
Unto this wall, - one instant and no more
Admitted at my distant palace-door
Afar the flowers of Enna from this drear
Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here
Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey
That chills me: and afar; how far away
The nights that shall be from the days that were
Behold, this crocus is a withering flame
This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom's part
To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent's art
Nay, for this spring-flowers, turn thy face from them
Nor stay till on the year's last lily-stem
The white cup shrivels round the golden heart
Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing
Strange ways in thought, and listen for a sign
And still some heart unto some soul doth pine
 (Whose sounds mine inner sense is fain to bring)
Woe's me for thee, unhappy Proserpine
(Continually together, murmuring)
Woe's me for thee, unhappy Proserpine
 (Woe's me for thee, unhappy Proserpine)
Woe's me for thee
unhappy Proserpine
Woe's me for thee