Samuel Taylor Coleridge Quotes

All Nature seems at work, slugs leave their lair--
The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--
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All Nature seems at work, slugs leave their lair--
The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--
And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Ignorance seldom vaults into knowledge, but passes into it
through an intermediate state of obscurity, even as night into read more

Ignorance seldom vaults into knowledge, but passes into it
through an intermediate state of obscurity, even as night into
day through twilight.

So lonely 'twas that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.

So lonely 'twas that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.

He that begins by loving Christianity better than truth will proceed by loving his own sect or church better than read more

He that begins by loving Christianity better than truth will proceed by loving his own sect or church better than Christianity, and end in loving himself better than all.

Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth,
And constancy lives in read more

Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth,
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny, and youth is vain;
And to be wrothe with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.

For why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?
The air is cut read more

For why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?
The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

The knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;
His soul is with the saints, I read more

The knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;
His soul is with the saints, I trust.

Remorse is as the heart in which it grows;
If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews
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Remorse is as the heart in which it grows;
If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews
Of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy,
It is the poison tree, that pierced to the inmost,
Weeps only tears of poison.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, read more

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sunthaw; whether the eve-drops fall,
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Of if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.