Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BLOSSOMING OF THE SOLITARY DATE-TREE. A LAMENT, by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE


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THE BLOSSOMING OF THE SOLITARY DATE-TREE. A LAMENT, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are the
Last Line: Why was I made for love and love denied to me?
Subject(s): Date Trees; Love - Complaints; Mothers


I

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 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

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.
Beloved!' 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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