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.