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Samuel Taylor Coleridge

(1772-1834 / Devon / England)

Song


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.

Submitted: Monday, May 14, 2001
Edited: Monday, May 14, 2001

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