I was just wondering cause I recognise the line from "the Garden of Proserpine" by Algernon Swinburne
Excerpt:
Pale, beyond porch and portal,
Crowned with calm leaves she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love's who fears to greet her,
To men that mix and meet her
From many times and lands.

Oh, I'm sure I will.