Blossing Of The Solitary Date-Tree, The
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are the Thrones of
Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect the rays. `What no one
with us shares, seems scarce our own.' The presence of a ONE,
The best belov'd, who loveth me the best,
is for the heart, what the supporting air from within is for the hollow
globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and all without, that
would have buoyed it aloft even to the seat of the gods, becomes a burthen
and crushes it into flatness.
II
The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely, and the fairer and
lovelier the object presented to the sense ; the more exquisite the
individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample his means and
opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily will he feel the ache of
solitariness, the more unsubstantial becomes the feast spread around him.
What matters it, whether in fact the viands and the ministering graces are
shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms to embrace them
?
III
Hope, Imagination, honourable Aims,
Free Commune with the choir that cannot die,
Science and Song, delight in little things,
The buoyant child surviving in the man ;
Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky,
With all their voices--O dare I accuse
My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen,
Or call my destiny niggard ! O no ! no !
It is her largeness, and her overflow,
Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so !
IV
For never touch of gladness stirs my heart,
But tim'rously beginning to rejoice
Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start
In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice.
Belovéd ! 'tis not thine ; thou art not there !
Then melts the bubble into idle air,
And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.
V
The mother with anticipated glee
Smiles o'er the child, that, standing by her chair
And flatt'ning its round cheek upon her knee,
Looks up, and doth its rosy lips prepare
To mock the coming sounds. At that sweet sight
She hears her own voice with a new delight ;
And if the babe perchance should lisp the notes aright,
VI
Then is she tenfold gladder than before !
But should disease or chance the darling take,
What then avail those songs, which sweet of yore
Were only sweet for their sweet echo's sake ?
Dear maid ! no prattler at a mother's knee
Was e'er so dearly prized as I prize thee :
Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me ?
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Here Are Our Top Love Poems...
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I Would Live in Your Love
by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
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Sonnet From the Portuguese V
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-61)
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The Bungler
by Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
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Blue and White
by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861-1907)
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Desideria
by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
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The Taxi
by Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
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Daffodils
by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
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Song
by Sir William Watson (1858-1935)
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To a Butterfly
by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
Love Poems 10
Sonnet From the Portuguese V
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-61)
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She Tells Her Love by Robert Ranke Graves
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It's all I have to bring to-day by Emily Dickinson
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I Never Lost As Much by Emily Dickinson
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Heart, We Will Forget Him by Emily Dickinson
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O Mistress Mine by William Shakespeare
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The Rose in the Deeps of his Heart by William Butler Yeats
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Love by Robert Browning
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My Pretty Rose Tree by William Blake
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I Should Not Dare by Emily Dickinson
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One Day I Wrote Her Name by Edmund Spenser
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Tell me not, Sweet, by Richard Lovelace
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The Dream by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The Dream by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Hope is a Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson
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We Are Seven by William Wordsworth
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Mag by Carl Sandburg
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Ebb by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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I Sing by Emily Dickinson
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For Each Ecstatic Instant by Emily Dickinson
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Love Not Me by John Wilbye
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Mild Is The Parting Year by Walter Savage Landor