Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Sonnet VII. To Burke
As late I lay in Slumber's shadowy vale,
With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise,
I saw the sainted form of FREEDOM rise:
She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale.
'Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,
Ere in an evil hour with alter'd voice
Thou bad'st Oppression's hireling crew rejoice
Blasting with wizard spell my laurell'd fame.
Yet never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl!
Thee stormy Pity, and the cherished lure
Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul,
Wildered with meteor fires. Ah, Spirit pure!
That error's mist had left thy purged eye:
So might I clasp thee with a Mother's joy!'
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Sonnet VII. To Burke by Samuel Taylor Coleridge )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- In the garden , Gert Strydom
- In the garden, Gert Strydom
- Please Forgive Them For What They Do, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Perceptions, Jaipal Singh
- Heroin, S.D. TIWARI
- 728 Days, Tara Stano
- Why do I write, S.D. TIWARI
- Stream of life, S.D. TIWARI
- We Must Learn, Jaipal Singh
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -67, Ronjoy Brahma