Samuel Taylor Coleridge Poems

  • 51.  
    When faint and sad o'er sorrow's desert wild
    Slow journeys onward poor misfortune's child; When fades each lovely form by fancy drest,
  • 52.  
    The Moon, how definite its orb!
    Yet gaze again, and with a steady gaze-- 'Tis there indeed,--but where is it not?--
  • 53.  
    Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
    It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees ;
  • 54.  
    Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are the Thrones of
    Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect the rays. `What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.' The presence of a ONE,
  • 55.  
    Oh! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams
    In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; Nor while half-listening, mid delicious dreams,
  • 56.  
    Tho' roused by that dark Visir riot rude
    Have driven our Priestly o'er the ocean swell; Tho' Superstition and her wolfish brood
  • 57.  
    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
  • 58.  
    Spirit who sweepest the wild harp of Time! It is most hard, with an untroubled ear
  • 59.  
    Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
    Love is a sword that cuts its sheath, And thro' the clefts, itself has made,
  • 60.  
    What is an Epigram? A dwarfish whole,
    Its body brevity, and wit its soul.
  • 61.  
    The stream with languid murmur creeps,
    In Lumin's flowery vale: Beneath the dew the Lily weeps
  • 62.  
    Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
    God grant me grace my prayers to say: O God! preserve my mother dear
  • 63.  
    Tho' much averse, dear Jack, to flicker,
    To find a likeness for friend V----ker, I've made, thro' earth, and air, and sea,
  • 64.  
    Are there two things, of all which men possess,
    That are so like each other and so near, As mutual Love seems like to Happiness?
  • 65.  
    Sandoval. You loved the daughter of Don Manrique?
    Earl Henry. Loved? Sandoval. Did you not say you wooed her?
  • 66.  
    This is now--this was erst,
    Proposition the first--and Problem the first.
  • 67.  
    If dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom
    Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare As summer-gusts, of sudden birth and doom,
  • 68.  
    When youth his fairy reign began, Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man;
  • 69.  
    My eyes make pictures when they're shut:--
    I see a fountain large and fair, A Willow and a ruined Hut,
  • 70.  
    Water and windmills, greenness, Islets green;--
    Willows whose Trunks beside the shadows stood Of their own higher half, and willowy swamp:--
  • 71.  
    From his brimstone bed at break of day
    A walking the DEVIL is gone, To visit his little snug farm of the earth
  • 72.  
    To the River Otter
    Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West!
  • 73.  
    At midnight by the stream I roved,
    To forget the form I loved. Image of Lewti! from my mind
  • 74.  
    Of late, in one of those most weary hours, When life seems emptied of all genial powers,
  • 75.  
    Like a lone Arab, old and blind,
    Some caravan had left behind, Who sits beside a ruin'd well,
  • 76.  
    Ah cease thy tears and sobs, my little life!
    I did but snatch away the unclasped knife: Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,
  • 77.  
    Trochee trips from long to short;
    From long to long in solemn sort Slow Spondee stalks, strong foot!, yet ill able
  • 78.  
    Alas! they had been friends in youth;
    But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above;
  • 79.  
    Since all, that beat about in Nature's range,
    Or veer or vanish ; why should'st thou remain The only constant in a world of change,
  • 80.  
    Pale Roamer thro' the Night! thou poor forlorn!
    Remorse that man on his death-bed possess, Who in the credulous hour of tenderness
  • 81.  
    How long will ye round me be swelling,
    O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea? Not always in caves was my dwelling,
  • 82.  
    If I had but two little wings
    And were a little feathery bird, To you I'd fly, my dear!
  • 83.  
    Why need I say, Louisa dear!
    How glad I am to see you here, A lovely convalescent;
  • 84.  
    And this reft house is that the which he built,
    Lamented Jack ! And here his malt he pil'd, Cautious in vain ! These rats that squeak so wild,
  • 85.  
    All look and likeness caught from earth
    All accident of kin and birth, Had pass'd away. There was no trace
  • 86.  
    As when far off the warbled strains are heard
    That soar on Morning's wing the vales among, Within his cage th' imprisoned matin bird
  • 87.  
    Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
    Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
  • 88.  
    Friend of the Wise ! and Teacher of the Good !
    Into my heart have I received that Lay More than historic, that prophetic Lay
  • 89.  
    Mild Splendor of the various-vested Night!
    Mother of wildly-working visions! hail! I watch thy gliding, while with watery light
  • 90.  
    Maiden, that with sullen brow
    Sitt'st behind those virgins gay, Like a scorched and mildew'd bough,
  • 91.  
    Thicker than rain-drops on November thorn.

  • 92.  
    As late I lay in Slumber's shadowy vale,
    With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise:
  • 93.  
    Mark this holy chapel well! The birth-place, this, of William Tell.
  • 94.  
    If, while my passion I impart,
    You deem my words untrue, O place your hand upon my heart,
  • 95.  
    Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
    In his steep course? So long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC,
  • 96.  
  • 97.  
  • 98.  
    Maid of my love! sweet Genevieve!
    In beauty's light you glide along; Your eye is like the star of eve,
  • 99.  
    O! it is pleasant with a heart at ease,
    Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
  • 100.  
    The tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil,
    The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall
Total 177 poems written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Poem of the day

Eight O’Clock
 by Sara Teasdale

Supper comes at five o'clock,
At six, the evening star,
My lover comes at eight o'clock -
But eight o'clock is far.

How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands laboring to bring

Read complete poem

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