Poems by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The Improvisatore, Or, 'John Anderson, My Jo, John'
... But above all, it supposes a soul which, even in the pride and summer-tide ...
The Rose
... And plac'd him, cag'd within the flower, ...
The Keepsake
... Has worked, (the flowers which most she knew I loved,) ...
Something Childish, But Very Natural. Written In Germany
... Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, ...
Fragment
... The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul, ...
To A Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It
... Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride, ...
Phantom Or Fact? A Dialogue In Verse
... Author. Call it a moment's work (and such it seems), ...
Psyche
... And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed ...
Sonnet III.
... Of joys, that glimmered in Hope's twilight ray, ...
To A Friend Who Had Declared His Intention Of Writing No More Poetry
... They snatched him from the sickle and the plough-- ...
Answer To A Child's Question
... But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, ...
The Alienated Mistress; A Madrigal. (From An Unfinished Melodrama)
... Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born, ...
Sonnet VII. To Burke
... Thou bad'st Oppression's hireling crew rejoice ...
Sea-ward, white gleaming thro' the busy scud (fragment)
... Edges the stiffer Breeze, now, yielding, drifts, ...
The Blossoming Of The Solitary Date-Tree. A Lament
... he ministering graces are shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms to embrace them ...
