By Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) was once the grasp impresario of English Romanticism -- an tremendously erudite and tireless critic, lecturer, and polemicist who nearly single-handedly created the highbrow weather during which the Romantic circulate used to be bought and understood. He was once additionally, in poems equivalent to 'The Rime of the traditional Mariner,' 'Christabel,' and 'Kubla Khan.' the main uncanny, surreal, and startling of the good English poets.
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Extra info for Coleridge: Poems (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets)
With merciless weight those trifles press A mood sore with Tenderness, whilst akes the Void inside of. yet why with sable wand unblessed 20 should still Fancy rouse inside my breast Dim-visag’d shapes of Dread? Untenanting its beauteous clay My SARA’s soul has wing’d its approach, And hovers around my head! 25 I felt it steered the soft Dream, whilst slowly sunk the day’s final gleam; You rous’d each one gentler experience, As sighing o’er the Blossom’s bloom Meek night wakes its smooth body spray 30 With viewless effect. And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans via yon reft apartment! O’er rolling stones In daring bold sweep On onward-surging tides offer 35 The silence of the cloudless sky With mimic thunders deep. darkish reddening from the channell’d Isle (Where stands one solitary pile Unslated through the blast) forty The Watchfire, like a sullen superstar Twinkles to many a drowsing Tar impolite cradled at the mast. Even there — underneath that light-house tower — within the tumultuous evil hour forty five Ere Peace with SARA got here, Time used to be, I must have concept it candy To count number the echoings of my toes, And watch the storm-vex’d flame. And there in black soul-jaundic’d healthy 50 a tragic gloom-pamper’d guy to sit down, and hear the roar: while mountain Surges bellowing deep With an uncouth monster bounce Plung’d foaming at the shore. fifty five Then by means of the Lightning’s blaze to mark a few toiling tempest-shatter’d bark: Her useless distress-guns pay attention: And while a moment sheet of sunshine Flash’d o’er the blackness of the evening — 60 to work out no Vessel there! yet Fancy now extra gaily sings; Or if awhile she suspend her wings, As skylarks ’mid the corn, On summer season fields she grounds her breast: sixty five The oblivious Poppy o’er her nest Nods, until returning morn. O mark these smiling tears, that swell The open’d Rose! From heaven they fell, And with the sun-beam mix. 70 Blest visitations from above, Such are the soft woes of affection Fostering the center, they bend! whilst stormy dead night howling around Beats on our roof with clatt’ring sound, seventy five To me your fingers you’ll stretch: nice God! you’ll say — To us so type, O guard from this loud bleak wind The houseless, friendless wretch! The tears that tremble down your cheek, eighty Shall shower my kisses chaste and meek In Pity’s dew divine; And out of your center the sighs that scouse borrow Shall make your emerging bosom suppose The answ’ring swell of mine! eighty five How oft, my Love! with shapings candy I paint the instant, we will meet! With keen velocity I dart — I grab you within the vacant air, And fancy, with a Husband’s care ninety I press you to my center! ’Tis acknowledged, in Summer’s night hour Flashes the golden-colour’d flower a good electrical flame. And so shall flash my love-charg’d eye while all of the heart’s enormous ecstasy ninety five Shoots swift thro’ the body! REFLECTIONS ON HAVING LEFT a spot OF RETIREMENT Sermoni propriora. — HOR. Low was once our lovely Cot: our tallest Rose Peep’d on the chamber-window. shall we listen At silent midday, and eve, and early morn, The Sea’s faint murmur.