Samuel Taylor Coleridge

 







            To Southey 

Southey! thy melodies steal o'er mine ear
    Like far-off joyance, or the murmering
    Of wild bees in the sunny showers of Spring—
Sounds of such mingled import as may cheer

The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful tear:
    Wak'd by the Song doth Hope-born Fancy fling
    Rich showers of dewy fragrance from her wing,
Till sickly Passion's drooping Myrtles sear

Blossom anew! But O! more thrill'd, I prize
    Thy sadder strains, that bid in Memory's Dream 
The faded forms of past Delight arise;
    Then soft, on Love's pale cheek, the tearful gleam

Of Pleasures smiles—as, faint, yet beauteous lies
The imag'd Rainbow on a willowy stream.[7]


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