24.06.2007, 18:48
In Reminiscence of the Poet Coleridge
Coleridge, of boyhood in the early dawn
Oppressed I felt not, nor of hope forlorn,
Grasping your hand. You spoke, as though our school
Were of a separate world the vestibule;
And we its habitants.--In cloistered walk
While such of opening scenes your cherished talk,
I listened breathless;--and I saw you prove
Your boded triumphs in the college grove.
Thence, by a sudden plunge, amid their strife
You sprang into the waves of this world's life;
Nor paused.--Far, far away it was mine to hear
Fame of your struggles, and the applauding cheer.
At last of wondrous boy, of bard, of sage
Sank beneath friendship's roof the sheltered age.
Coleridge, of boyhood in the early dawn
Oppressed I felt not, nor of hope forlorn,
Grasping your hand. You spoke, as though our school
Were of a separate world the vestibule;
And we its habitants.--In cloistered walk
While such of opening scenes your cherished talk,
I listened breathless;--and I saw you prove
Your boded triumphs in the college grove.
Thence, by a sudden plunge, amid their strife
You sprang into the waves of this world's life;
Nor paused.--Far, far away it was mine to hear
Fame of your struggles, and the applauding cheer.
At last of wondrous boy, of bard, of sage
Sank beneath friendship's roof the sheltered age.