English poem
This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say)
Enshrines thy form as purely as it may, Round which, as to some spirit uttering bliss, My thoughts all stand ministrant night and day Like saintly Priests, that dare not think amiss.
? 1801.
More by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- There are, I am told, who sharply criticise
- This day among the faithful plac'd
- This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison
- This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,--
- Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress
- Thou who in youthful vigour rich, and light
- Though rous'd by that dark Vizir Riot rude
- Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood