George Darley Quotes on Sadness
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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!
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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.
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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!