I see, but not by sight alone,
Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;
A ray of Fancy still survives-
Her sunshine plays upon thee !
Thy ever-youthful waters keep
A course of lively pleasure;

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe
Accordant to the measure.

The vapors linger round the heights,
They melt, and soon must vanish;
One hour is theirs nor more is mine
Sad thought! which I would banish,
But that I know, where'er I go,
Thy genuine image, Yarrow!
Will dwell with me, to heighten joy,
And cheer my mind in sorrow.

Coleridge

CATULLIAN HENDECASYLLABLES

HEAR, my beloved, an old Milesian story!—

High and embosom'd in congregated laurels Glimmer'd a temple upon a breezy headland; In the dim distance amid the skiey billows Rose a fair island; the god of flocks had placed it. From the far shores of the bleak resounding

island

Oft by the moonlight a little boat came floating, Came to the sea-cave beneath the breezy head

land,

Where amid myrtles a pathway stole in mazes
Up to the groves of the high embosom'd temple.
There in a thicket of dedicated roses

Oft did a priestess, as lovely as a vision,
Pouring her soul to the son of Cytherea,
Pray him to hover around the slight canoe-boat,
And with invisible pilotage to guide it

Over the dusk wave, until the nightly sailor
Shivering with ecstasy sank upon her bosom.

VERSE,

YOUTH AND AGE

ERSE, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding like a bee, Both were mine! Life went a-maying

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,

When I was young?

When I was young!

Ah, woful When ! Ah, for the change 'twixt Now and Then! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands, How lightly then it flashed along: Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide,

That ask no aid of sail or oar,

That fear no spite of wind or tide!

Naught cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I liv'd in't together.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;

Oh! the joys, that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty

Ere I was old!

Ere I was old? Ah, woful Ere,

Which tells me Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known that Thou and I were one.
I'll think it but a fond conceit
It cannot be that Thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd,
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on
To make believe that Thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size:
But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought; so think I will
That Youth and I are house-mates still.

Dewdrops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve

When we are old.

That only serves to make us grieve
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
That may not rudely be dismist,
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,
And tells the jest without the smile.

KUBLA KHAN*

IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But O! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this Earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

* Coleridge says that this poem was composed when he had fallen asleep after reading about the Khan Kubla in Purchas' "Pilgrimage"; when he awoke he could only remember a part of the poem he had dreamed.