Poem by George Darley

On the Death of a Recluse

'Mid roaring brooks and dark moss-vales,
Where speechless Thought abides,
Still her sweet spirit dwells,
That knows no world besides.

Her form the woodland still retains -
Wound but a creeping flower,
Her very life-blood stains
There, in a falling shower.

Touch but th stream, drink but the air,
Her cheek, her breath, is known,
Ravish that red rose there,
And she is all thine own.

1. To Helene
2. The Anonymous Poet
3. The Moon and Sea
4. Love's Likeness
5. Song (Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers)

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