Golden Pulse

GOLDEN pulse grew on the shore,

Ferns along the hill,

And the red cliff roses bore

Bees to drink their fill;

Bees that from the meadows bring

Wine of melilot,

Honey-sups on golden wing

To the garden grot.

But to me, neglected flower,

Phaon will not see,

Passion brings no crowning hour,

Honey nor the bee.