Monday, June 24, 2019 Text is available under the CC BY-SA 3.0 licence.

George Darley (1795 – 1846)

Irish poet, novelist, and critic.
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George Darley
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!
Darley quotes
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!
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.

Darley George quotes
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!
Darley George
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.
George Darley quotes
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.
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