Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834 / Devon / England)
Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath,
And thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the Blade !
But thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We likewise see Love's flashing blade,
By rust consumed or snapt in twain :
And only Hilt and Stump remain.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Other Poems
- (Fragment 2) I know 'tis but a Dream, ye...
- A Child's Evening Prayer
- A Christmas Carol
- A Couplet, Written In A Volume Of Poems ...
- A Day Dream
- A Mathematical Problem
- A Soliloquy Of The Full Moon, She Being ...
- A Tombless Epitaph
- About The Nightingale
- Absence: A Farewell Ode On Quitting Scho...
- Addressed To A Young Man Of Fortune Who ...
- Aeolian Harp, The
- Answer To A Child's Question
- Aplolgia Pro Vita Sua
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.