More about George Darley
George Darley Quotes
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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.
O blest unfabled Incense Tree,
That burns in glorious Araby.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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.
Quote of the day
It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.
November 23, 1846
George Darley was an Irish poet, novelist, and critic.
Familiar Astronomy (1830)
Nepenthe: A Poem in Two Cantos
George Darley on Wikipedia
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