Golden Pulse

John Myers O'Hara

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.

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