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. Lenimina Laborum. 18. The Cross-Examination
2. Lenimina Laborum. 47. To Rosella
3. Lenimina Laborum. 27. The Free-Booter
4. Lenimina Laborum. 10. Fair as the flower is, it will yet decay
5. Lenimina Laborum. 50. Even were Hell a fable, 'twere a wise one

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