George Darley

Irish poet, novelist, and critic

George Darley (1795 – 1846) was an Irish poet, novelist, and critic.


  • 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.
  • 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.

Poem Nepenthe

  • 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!
  • 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!
  • 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.
  • 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!
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