The Flower called Longing — long ago
On Grecian graves it used to blow
For those who had been doomed to go
To mute Persephone, while Love
Still kept a place for them above,
And dreamed the Vanished knew thereof!

The Flower called Longing — how it spreads,
If one live long to tend the beds
That lap so many precious heads! ...
If one live overlong, alas,
The Flower called Longing — it shall pass,
And over him sweep but the grass!