Monologue

Proserpine Monologue

From Proserpine by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

female · joyful · 40 sec

:Thanks, Ino dear, you have beguiled an hour :With poesy that might make pause to list :The nightingale in her sweet evening song. :But now no more of ease and idleness, :The sun stoops to the west, and Enna's plain :Is overshadowed by the growing form :Of giant Etna:–Nymphs, let us arise, :And cull the sweetest flowers of the field, :And with swift fingers twine a blooming wreathe :For my dear Mother's rich and waving hair.

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