Proserpine Monologue

From Proserpine by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

female · melancholic · 1:08 min

:Dear Mother, leave me not! I love to rest :Under the shadow of that hanging cave :And listen to your tales. Your Proserpine :Entreats you stay; sit on this shady bank, :And as I twine a wreathe tell once again :The combat of the Titans and the Gods; :Or how the Python fell beneath the dart :Of dread Apollo; or of Daphne's change,– :That coyest Grecian maid, whose pointed leaves :Now shade her lover's brow. And I the while :Gathering the starry flowers of this fair plain :Will weave a chaplet, Mother, for thy hair. :But without thee, the plain I think is vacant, :Its blossoms fade,–its tall fresh grasses droop, :Nodding their heads like dull things half asleep;– :Go not, dear Mother, from your Proserpine.

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