Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834 / Devon / England)
Lines To W. L. While He Sang A Song To Purcell's Music
While my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
And I have many friends who hold me dear;
L----! methinks, I would not often hear
Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose
All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,
For which my miserable brethren weep!
But should uncomforted misfortunes steep
My daily bread in tears and bitterness;
And if at death's dread moment I should lie,
With no beloved face at my bed-side,
To fix the last glance of my closing-eye,
Methinks, such strains, breathed by my angel-guide,
Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,
Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!
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