Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/797

 GEORGE DARLEY 648 The Phoenix

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'

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��Beauty may weep her fair first-born. Perchance in as resplendent tears,

Such golden dcwdrops bow the corn When the stern sickleman appears:

But Of such perfume to a bower Never allured sweet-seeking bee,

As to sip fast that nectarous shower A thirstier minstrel drew in me!

��The Solitary Lyre

WHEREFORE, unlaurelPd Boy, Whom the contemptuous Muse will not inspire, With a sad kind of joy

Still sing'st thou to thy solitary lyre?

The melancholy winds

Pour through unnumbered reeds their idle woes, And every Naiad finds

A stream to weep her sorrow as it flows.

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