Samuel Taylor Coleridge

[Samuel Coleridge] (1772-1834 / Devon / England)

Samuel Taylor Coleridge Poems

161. The Knight's Tomb 12/31/2002
162. Suicide's Argument, The 12/31/2002
163. France: An Ode 5/14/2001
164. The Exchange 1/1/2004
165. Limbo 5/14/2001
166. Glycine's Song 12/31/2002
167. Cologne 5/14/2001
168. A Child's Evening Prayer 3/31/2010
169. The Eolian Harp 1/13/2003
170. Aeolian Harp, The 12/31/2002
171. The Faded Flower 12/31/2002
172. Answer To A Child's Question 3/31/2010
173. Work Without Hope 5/14/2001
174. Despair 5/14/2001
175. Life 12/31/2002
176. A Soliloquy Of The Full Moon, She Being In A Mad Passion 5/14/2001
177. Love 5/14/2001
178. Desire 5/14/2001
179. Fragment 5/14/2001
180. Human Life 5/14/2001
181. A Tombless Epitaph 5/14/2001
182. A Day Dream 3/31/2010
183. Christabel 1/13/2003
184. Dejection: An Ode 5/14/2001
185. The Good, Great Man 12/31/2002
186. About The Nightingale 5/14/2001
187. Frost At Midnight 5/14/2001
188. Fears In Solitude 5/14/2001
189. Rime Of The Ancient Mariner 12/31/2002
190. The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner 5/14/2001
191. The Suicide's Argument 5/14/2001
192. Kubla Khan 5/14/2001

Comments about Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  • Stephanie carlson (2/27/2018 12:42:00 PM)

    His life sounded miserable, sad, and very difficult

    3 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Ling Poon (11/15/2013 9:41:00 AM)

    his life was miserable

Best Poem of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Kubla Khan

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er ...

Read the full of Kubla Khan

France: An Ode

EXCERPT]
...
O Liberty ! with profitless endeavour
Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour ;
But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
(Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee)
[Image]Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,

[Report Error]