Ternissa! you are fled!

Ternissa! you are fled! I say not to the dead, But to the happy ones who rest below: For, surely, surely, where Your voice and graces are, Nothing of death can any feel or know. Girls who delight to dwell Where grows most asphodel, Gather to their calm breasts each word you speak: The mild Persephone Places you on her knee, And your cool palm smooths down stern Pluto's cheek.