The Phoenix By George Darley. 4 of 4.
From ‘Nepenthe’, Canto I.
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!
Beauty may weep her fair first-born,
Perchance in as resplendent tears,
Such golden dewdrops bow the corn
When the stern sickleman appears:
But O! such perfume to a bower
Never allured sweet-seeking bee,
As to sip fast that nectarous shower
A thirstier minstrel drew in me!
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