I found it...

The Garden of Proserpine
Charles A. Swinburne

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.

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 and powers
And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbor,
And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labor,
Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,
No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale beds of blowing rushes,
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,
In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,
He too with death shall dwell,
Nor wake with wings in heaven,
Nor weep for pains in hell;
Though one were fair as roses,
His beauty clouds and closes;
And well though love reposes,
In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,
Crowned with calm leaves she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love's who fears to greet her,
To men that mix and meet her
From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,
She waits for all men born;
Forgets the earth her mother,
The life of fruits and corn;
And spring and seed and swallow
Take wing for her and follow
Where summer song rings hollow
And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,
The old loves 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.

We are not sure of sorrow;
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
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.

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.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

... this poem, or, rather, the last couplet of the second-to-last verse of this poem, has haunted me for more than a year. Excuse me while I celebrate.

*baaa*

Take the 100 Acre Personality Quiz!

the time shall come, when I shall knot this broken thread....

She closed the book firmly, and brushed aside the pile of leaves hiding the roots of the tree in front of her, exposing a stone slab. Sliding her fingers into the groove between one side of the stone and the packed earth, she pried it up. There was a roughly squared hole there, its sides tiled with smaller stones, and the inside lined with down. It was already occupied by several small trinkets: among these, she laid the book and pen, and then replaced the stone slab, and hid the whole under the leaves once more.

She lingered there, however, letting herself sink into a calm awareness of the earth beneath her and the rustling of the leaves above her, while the shadows grew a few fingerlengths longer on the trunk of the tree. Then she stood and brushed herself off, and set off up the hill, with her mother's first call drifting on the breeze towards her.

She walked through the door and the living room, absently ruffling her brother's hair, much to his annoyance, and headed up the stairs to her room. The miniature whirlwind that brushed by her then almost unbalanced them both, and she grabbed at the railing with one hand, and steadied the child with the other.

"Slow down, Ellie," she said a little impatiently. "Why the rush?" The little girl tossed her fair hair, and looked up at her, a little abashed, but still determined. "Dinner soon," she said. "You're late, and Mama's not going to like it if you're not at table soon." Lyssa relaxed her grip, sighing, and the six-year-old dashed down the stairs, going not one whit more slowly than she had been before. Lyssa shook her head, hid a smile, and continued on her way; Eleri, she knew, was irrepressible. She washed up and dressed quickly, all the same. Ellie was right about Elise's reaction to one of her brood being late to table.

She knew there was something going on the moment she reached the landing, however, and raised an eyebrow. Everyone was gathered at table, the places were set, but there was near-silence, not the usual chatter. And everyone was staring at her, trying to hide grins. Slowly, she came the rest of the way down the stairs, kissed both Elise and Sion, and took her place at table, between Drew and Colin. "Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" she asked, looking from one to another. She looked hard at the twins, Colin and Drew, knowing that they never could keep a secret. But before the boys could give anything away, there was a knock at the door, and badly-stifled giggles erupted from Ellie.

"Alys, go answer the door, please," Elise said firmly. "Eleri, you may be excused from the table unless you can stop that." Lyssa moved to obey, but the door opened before she could touch it, and she stared for a split second before giving a squeal better suited to Ellie, and rushing to hug the visitor. Behind her, she could hear more giggles, and chairs being pushed back, and then she was being hugged herself, and leading Kyle to the table.

"When did you get in? How long are you staying? Where are you staying?" The questions tumbled out one after another, and she disregarded the quiet chuckles from Sion and Elise completely, slowing only when Kyle raised a hand in mock surrender. "Enough!" he laughed, and began to tick off points on his fingers. "First, I'm here for the weekend. Second, I got in this morning, and dropped by then to see my favourite family, but you were out, and I couldn't find you down on the dunes." He gave her a curious look, then, and she flushed. "Mm," was all he said. "I guess I'll ask about that later. Anyway, I'm staying here, Mom and Dad invited me this morning. That enough, Allie?"

She coloured up again at that, and shook her head, her dark hair hiding her eyes. Only Kyle called her "Allie" and got away with it. She'd trounced enough of the kids at school who had heard him ask after "his Allie" one day that they had long since conceded the point, but Kyle walked where better men feared to tread. After all, they both knew perfectly well that Lyssa could forgive the constant companion of her childhood anything.

Sion and Elise looked on in fond amusement, and though Elise's smile showed a trace of something more, she said nothing, only set about serving dinner. Fair of mind and fair in looks, Elise worried about her adopted daughter; it seemed that every day it became more and more obvious that Alys was "odd man out," among her sibs and among her schoolmates. Elise herself had long since faced the fact that she had never entirely had the confidence of her changeling, not since the days when Alys was the toddler Sion had found on the hillside and brought home. Even then, she mused, the small girl had been the most self-contained child Elise had ever seen.

In any case, Elise thought, smiling over at the pair engrossed in each other's conversation, Alys was entirely happy now, and Kyle always took good care of her. Though it hadn't been that way at first: Kyle had been a neighbour Sion had taken under his wing when he was just a small boy, before Sion and Elise had had any children of their own. When Sion had brought the dark-haired toddler home, ten-year-old Kyle had been obnoxious until he had realized that "his Sion" wasn't abandoning him. After that, however, Alys had very quickly won Kyle's heart as well, and she had become his constant shadow.

(more to follow later.)

(no subject)

Time to go... and I may be offline through the holiday. Merry Christmas, LiveJournal world. Take care till I see you again.