Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Devon / England
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Devon / England
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The Nightingale

Rating: 2.7
A Conversation Poem, April, 1798

No cloud, no relique of the sunken day
Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip
Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge!
You see the glimmer of the stream beneath,
But hear no murmuring: it flows silently.
O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still.
A balmy night! and though the stars be dim,
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
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Douglas Scotney 25 February 2012
A Father's Tale (Revisiting The Nightingale) It was one of those still, dark, quiet, balmy nights. Three thoughtful friends sat on a mossy bridge near Nether Stowy, Somerset. A nightingale began to sing. Sam thought of melancholy, Of sorrow not suited to this song, Of poets diluted by books and balls, Of Nature's eternality, Of how a poem should add to all of Nature's loveliness, And be loved, like Nature itself is loved. He crafted such a poem. With delicious notes He describes wild grove, Delicious music of those birds, And fancies nightly votive tribute by a lady (Actually living hard by as gentle maid) . Out of this perfection Arose a promising insight: I'll expose my son to birdsong; Make him a lover of the night. He should not then have dreams like dad's That wake him up in fright. Note: the world needs the word eternality to denote Nature's immortal immensity
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