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  1. Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad. As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd. Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze. Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd. Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see. The shadow of the leaf and stem above.

  2. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Where true Love burns Desire is Love’s pure flame; It is the reflex of our earthly frame, That takes its meaning from the nobler part, And but translates the language of the heart. More Poems by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

  3. Thro’ all my Being, thro’ my pulse’s beat; You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light, Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve. On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake. And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you. And in Life’s noisiest hour, There whispers still the ceaseless….

  4. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion. Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far. Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure. Floated midway on the waves;

  5. 1 de jun. de 2023 · The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry. Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits. Abstruser musings: save that at my side. My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.

  6. Dejection: An Ode. And I fear, I fear, my Master dear! We shall have a deadly storm. Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made. Which better far were mute. For lo! the New-moon winter-bright! The coming-on of rain and squally blast. And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!

  7. In “Frost at Midnight,” Coleridge forges poetic patterns to represent the workings of memory and imagination. As he describes the frost, he poetically mimics its recurring shapes. Looked at closely, frost patterns vary somewhat but repeat the same basic designs, branching up the window, replicating themselves.