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.