Biography of Sara Coleridge
Sara was the fourth child and only daughter of the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. She grew up in the Lake district with an extended family that included her uncle, Robert Southey, and her aunt Lovell, widow of the poet Robert Lovell. The Wordsworths were her neighbors.
She was educated at home by various relatives, especially Southey. Her first published work was a translation she did for him while he was writing the Tale of Paraguay. Her next work was translating from medieval French.
Sara married her cousin, Henry Nelson Coleridge, in 1829. Verses she wrote for her own children were published and very popular, as was the fairy story. After Henry's death in 1843, Sara was left with the task of editing her father's works.
This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Sara Coleridge; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Sara Coleridge Poems
January brings the snow, makes our feet and fingers glow. February brings the rain,
See yon blithe child that dances in our sight! Can gloomy shadows fall from one so bright? Fond mother, whence these fears? While buoyantly he rushes o'er the lawn,
From “phantasmion” - One Face Alone
ONE face alone, one face alone, These eyes require; But, when that long’d-for sight is shown, What fatal fire
O Sleep, My Babe
O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave, Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling'ring strays To drink thy balmy breath, And sigh one long farewell.
From “phantasmion” - He Came Unlook'D Fo...
HE came unlook’d for, undesir’d, A sunrise in the northern sky, More than the brightest dawn admir’d, To shine and then forever fly.
In April comes the Nightingale, That sings when day's departed; The poets call her Philomel, And vow she's broken-hearted.
In April comes the Nightingale,
That sings when day's departed;
The poets call her Philomel,
And vow she's broken-hearted.
To them her soft, sweet, ling'ring note
Is like the sound of sorrow;
But some aver, no need hath she