Psyche

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The butterfly the ancient Grecians made
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name--
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
Of mortal life !--For in this earthly frame
Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame,
Manifold motions making little speed,
And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.

Next 10 Poems

• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Reason
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Recollections Of Love
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Reflections On Having Left A Place Of Retirement
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Rime Of The Ancient Mariner, The
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Something Childish, But Very Natural
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Song
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Sonnet
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Sonnet: To The River Otter
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Suicide's Argument, The
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : The Aeolian Harp

Previous 10 Poems

• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Presence Of Love, The
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Phantom
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Pains Of Sleep, The
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : On Donne's Poetry
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : On A Ruined House In A Romantic Country
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• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Love's Apparition And Evanishment: An Allegoric Romance
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Love
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Lines
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Limbo