More about George Darley
George Darley Quotes
8 Sourced Quotes
It is not Beauty I demand,
A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair.
Awake thee, my Lady-Love! Wake thee, and rise! The sun through the bower peeps Into thine eyes.
Give me, instead of beauty's bust,
A tender heart, a loyal mind,
Which with temptation I could trust,
Yet never linked with error find.
Come then, my bird! For the peace thou ever bearest,
Still Heaven's messenger of comfort to me—
Come—this fond bosom, O faithfullest and fairest,
Bleeds with its death-wound, its wound of love for thee!
Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers,
Lull'd by the faint breezes sighing through her hair;
Sleeps she and hears not the melancholy numbers
Breathed to my sad lute 'mid the lonely air.
Half-buried to her flaming breast
In this bright tree, she makes her nest,
Hundred-sunned Phoenix! when she must
Crumble at length to hoary dust!
O fast her amber blood doth flow
From the heart-wounded Incense Tree,
Fast as earth's deep-embosom'd woe
In silent rivulets to the sea!
O blest unfabled Incense Tree,
That burns in glorious Araby.
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There are worse words than cuss-words, there are words that hurt.
November 23, 1846
George Darley was an Irish poet, novelist, and critic.
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Nepenthe: A Poem in Two Cantos
George Darley on Wikipedia
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