Swinburne's "Hymn to Proserpine"
Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day;
But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May.
You walk at two worlds at the same time, dear poet. You don't live summer to winter but live them at the same time. Day is to you as dead as night, while light as shadow. You wake to dream, weary and craving for the pure slumber, seeing that no flower, in the end, will bear the fruit to spread seed and life.