Psyche by Samuel Coleridge
The butterfly the ancient Grecians made The soul’s fair emblem, and its only name– But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade Of mortal life !–For in this earthly frame Ours is the reptile’s lot, much toil, much blame, Manifold motions making little speed, And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed. ————— […]
Brockley Coomb by Samuel Coleridge
Lines composed while climbing the left ascent of Brockley Coomb, May 1795 With many a pause and oft reverted eye I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet songsters near Warble in shade their wild-wood melody: Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear. Up scour the startling stragglers of the flock That on green plots o’er […]
As some vast Tropic tree, itself a wood (fragment) by Samuel Coleridge
As some vast Tropic tree, itself a wood, That crests its Head with clouds, beneath the flood Feeds its deep roots, and with the bulging flank Of its wide base controls the fronting bank, (By the slant current’s pressure scoop’d away The fronting bank becomes a foam-piled bay) High in the Fork the uncouth Idol […]
Cologne by Samuel Coleridge
In K?hln, a town of monks and bones, And pavements fang’d with murderous stones And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches ; I counted two and seventy stenches, All well defined, and several stinks ! Ye Nymphs that reign o’er sewers and sinks, The river Rhine, it is well known, Doth wash your city of […]
Epitaph by Samuel Coleridge
Stop, Christian passer-by : Stop, child of God, And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem’d he– O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.– That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death […]
About The Nightingale by Samuel Coleridge
From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale: In stale blank verse a subject stale I send per post my Nightingale; And like an honest bard, dear Wordsworth, You’ll tell me what you think, my Bird’s worth. My own opinion’s briefly this– His bill he opens not amiss; And when he has […]
Epigram by Samuel Coleridge
Sir, I admit your general rule, That every poet is a fool, But you yourself may serve to show it, That every fool is not a poet. ————— The End And that’s the End of the Poem © Poetry Monster, 2021. Poems by topic and subject. Poetry Monster — the ultimate repository of world poetry. Poetry […]
Phantom by Samuel Coleridge
All look and likeness caught from earth All accident of kin and birth, Had pass’d away. There was no trace Of aught on that illumined face, Uprais’d beneath the rifted stone But of one spirit all her own ;– She, she herself, and only she, Shone through her body visibly. ————— The End And that’s […]
A Mathematical Problem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
This is now–this was erst, Proposition the first–and Problem the first. I. On a given finite Line Which must no way incline; To describe an equi– –lateral Tri– –A, N, G, L, E. Now let A. B. Be the given line Which must no way incline; The great Mathematician Makes this Requisition, That we describe […]
Fire, Famine, And Slaughter : A War Eclogue by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The Scene a desolate Tract in la Vendee. Famine is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter Fire and Slaughter. Fam. Sister! sisters! who sent you here? Slau. [to Fire.] I will whisper it in her ear. Fire. No! no! no! Spirits hear what spirits tell: ‘Twill make a holiday in Hell. No! no! […]
Fancy In Nubibus, Or The Poet In The Clouds by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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, Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Of a friend’s fancy; or with head bent low And cheek aslant see rivers flow of […]
Epitaph On An Infant. by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Its balmy lips the infant blest Relaxing from its mother’s breast, How sweet it heaves the happy sigh Of innocent satiety! And such my infant’s latest sigh! Oh tell, rude stone! the passer by, That here the pretty babe doth lie, Death sang to sleep with Lullaby. ————— The End And that’s the End of […]
Aplolgia Pro Vita Sua by Samuel Coleridge
The poet in his lone yet genial hour Gives to his eyes a magnifying power : Or rather he emancipates his eyes From the black shapeless accidents of size– In unctuous cones of kindling coal, Or smoke upwreathing from the pipe’s trim bole, His gifted ken can see Phantoms of sublimity. ————— The End And […]
A Soliloquy Of The Full Moon, She Being In A Mad Passion by Samuel Coleridge
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they’re the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum ‘Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation, With fun, jeering Conjuring Sky-staring, Loungering, And still to the tune of Transmogrification– Those muttering Spluttering Ventriloquogusty Poets With no Hats Or Hats that are rusty. They’re my […]