Song

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath,
And thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the Blade !

But thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We likewise see Love's flashing blade,
By rust consumed or snapt in twain :
And only Hilt and Stump remain.

Next 10 Poems

• 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
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : The Blossing Of The Solitary Date-tree
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : The Dungeon
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : The Eolian Harp
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : The Exchange
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : The Faded Flower
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : The Garden Of Boccaccio

Previous 10 Poems

• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Something Childish, But Very Natural
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Rime Of The Ancient Mariner, The
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Reflections On Having Left A Place Of Retirement
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Recollections Of Love
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Reason
• Samuel Taylor Coleridge : Psyche
• 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