Maxioms by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course?
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course?
I never think of the future--it comes soon enough.
I never think of the future--it comes soon enough.
Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned read more
Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round, walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
Those holies of themselves a shape
As of an arbor took.
Those holies of themselves a shape
As of an arbor took.
