Samuel Taylor Coleridge Poems

  • 1.  
    Of late, in one of those most weary hours,
    When life seems emptied of all genial powers, A dready mood, which he who ne'er has known
  • 2.  
    Scene - A spacious drawing-room, with music-room adjoining.
    Katharine. What are the words?
  • 3.  
    The body,
    Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul, The Soul's self-symbol, its image of itself.
  • 4.  
    (Act II, Scene I, lines 65-80)
  • 5.  
  • 6.  
    The poet in his lone yet genial hour
    Gives to his eyes a magnifying power: Or rather he emancipates his eyes
  • 7.  
  • 8.  
    My pensive SARA! thy soft cheek reclined
    Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown
  • 9.  
    If Pegasus will let thee only ride him, Spurning my clumsy efforts to o'erstride him, Some fresh expedient the Muse will try, And walk on stilts, although she cannot fly.
  • 10.  
    PART I
    It is an ancient Mariner,
  • 11.  
    'How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits
    Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits
  • 12.  
    Ter. But that entrance, Selma?
    Sel. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! Ter. No one.
  • 13.  
    Resembles Life what once was held of Light,
    Too ample in itself for human sight ? An absolute Self--an element ungrounded--
  • 14.  
    What if you slept
    And what if In your sleep
  • 15.  
    O peace, that on a lilied bank dost love
    To rest thine head beneath an olive tree, I would that from the pinions of thy dove
  • 16.  
    Oft, oft, methinks, the while with thee
    I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear And dedicated bame, I hear
  • 17.  
    Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation!
    Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum
  • 18.  
    Tranquillity! thou better name
    Than all the family of Fame! Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
  • 19.  
    The grapes upon the Vicar's wall
    Were ripe as ripe could be; And yellow leaves in sun and wind
  • 20.  
    Never, believe me,
    Appear the Immortals, Never alone:
  • 21.  
    My pensive SARA ! thy soft cheek reclined
    Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown
  • 22.  
    Whom the untaught Shepherds call Pixies in their madrigal,
  • 23.  
    The butterfly the ancient Grecians made
    The soul's fair emblem, and its only name-- But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
  • 24.  
    Away, those cloudy looks, that lab'ring sigh,
    The peevish offspring of a sickly hour! Nor meanly thus complain of fortune's power,
  • 25.  
    We pledged our hearts, my love and I,
    I in my arms the maiden clasping; I could not tell the reason why,
  • 26.  
    O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!
    For of thy lays the lulling simpleness Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress--
  • 27.  
    Ungrateful he, who pluck'd thee from thy stalk,
    Poor faded flow'ret! on his careless way; Inhal'd awhile thy odours on his walk,
  • 28.  
    Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
    He fain would frame a prayer within his breast, Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing,
  • 29.  
    Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
    The linnet, and thrush say, 'I love and I love!' In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong;
  • 30.  
    Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme
    Elaborate and swelling; ­ yet the heart Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers
  • 31.  
    When British Freedom for an happier land
    Spread her broad wings, that fluttered with affright, Erskine! thy voice she heard, and paused her flight
  • 32.  
    The Scene a desolate Tract in la Vendee. Famine is discovered
    lying on the ground; to her enter Fire and Slaughter.
  • 33.  
    Whom should I choose for my Judge? the earnest, impersonal reader,
    Who, in the work, forgets me and the world and himself!
  • 34.  
    And in Life's noisiest hour,
    There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee, The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
  • 35.  
    From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale:
    In stale blank verse a subject stale
  • 36.  
    One kiss, dear maid! I said and sighed,
    Your scorn the little boon denied. Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
  • 37.  
    A lovely form there sate beside my bed, And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
  • 38.  
    He too has flitted from his secret nest, Hope's last and dearest child without a name!--
  • 39.  
    Thou bleedest, my poor heart! and thy distress
    Reas'ning I ponder with a scornful smile And probe thy sore wound sternly, tho' the while
  • 40.  
    ... Finally, what is Reason ? You have often asked me ; and this is my
    answer :--
  • 41.  
    Poor little Foal of an oppressed race!
    I love the languid patience of thy face: And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
  • 42.  
    Nor cold nor stern my soul! Yet I detest
    These scented rooms, where to a gaudy throug, Heaves the proud harlot her distended breast
  • 43.  
    Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,
    Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!
  • 44.  
    Once more, sweet stream! with slow foot wand'ring near,
    I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours,
  • 45.  
    ``With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots,
    Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots ; Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and clue,
  • 46.  
    The sole true Something--This ! In Limbo Den
    It frightens Ghosts as Ghosts here frighten men-- For skimming in the wake it mock'd the care
  • 47.  
    THERE is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind,
  • 48.  
    Auspicious Reverence! Hush all meaner song,
    Ere we the deep preluding strain have poured To the Great Father, only Rightful King,
  • 49.  
    It was some spirit, Sheridan! that breath'd
    O'er thy young mind such wildly-various power! My soul hath marked thee in her shaping hour,
  • 50.  
    Schiller! that hour I would have wished to die,
    If thro' the shudd'ring midnight I had sent From the dark Dungeon of the Tower time-rent
Total 177 poems written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
The Song Of The Ungirt Runners
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

We swing ungirded hips,
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
We know not whom we trust
Nor whitherward we fare,
But we run because we must
Through the great wide air.

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