The Blossoming Of The Solitary Date-tree. A Lament Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


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 ONEB
The best belov'd who loveth me the bestC
is for the heart what the supporting air from within is for the hollow globe with its suspended car Deprive it of this and all without that would have buoyed it aloft even to the seat of the gods becomes a burthen and crushes it into flatnessD
The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely and the fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense the more exquisite the individual's capacity of joy and the more ample his means and opportunities of enjoyment the more heavily will he feel the ache of solitariness the more unsubstantial becomes the feast spread around him What matters it whether in fact the viands and the ministering graces are shadowy or real to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms to embrace themE
Hope Imagination honourable AimsF
Free Commune with the choir that cannot dieA
Science and Song delight in little thingsG
The buoyant child surviving in the manH
Fields forests ancient mountains ocean skyA
With all their voices O dare I accuseI
My earthly lot as guilty of my spleenJ
Or call my destiny niggard O no noK
It is her largeness and her overflowK
Which being incomplete disquieteth me soK
For never touch of gladness stirs my heartM
But tim'rously beginning to rejoiceN
Like a blind Arab that from sleep doth startM
In lonesome tent I listen for thy voiceN
Belov d 'tis not thine thou art not thereO
Then melts the bubble into idle airO
And wishing without hope I restlessly despairO
The mother with anticipated gleeL
Smiles o'er the child that standing by her chairO
And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her kneeL
Looks up and doth its rosy lips prepareO
To mock the coming sounds At that sweet sightP
She hears her own voice with a new delightP
And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes arightP
Then is she tenfold gladder than beforeQ
But should disease or chance the darling takeR
What then avail those songs which sweet of yoreQ
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sakeR
Dear maid no prattler at a mother's kneeL
Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize theeL
Why was I made for Love and Love denied to meL

Samuel Taylor Coleridge


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