Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SNOWDROP, by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE



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THE SNOWDROP, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Fear no more, thou timid flower
Last Line: A snow-drop mid the snow.
Variant Title(s): The Apotheosis, Or The Snow-drop
Subject(s): Consolation; Snowdrops (plants)


Fear no more, thou timid Flower!
Fear thou no more the winter's might.
The whelming thaw, the ponderous shower,
The silence of the freezing night!
Since Laura murmur'd o'er thy leaves
The potent sorceries of song,
To thee, meek Flowret! gentler gales
And cloudless skies belong.

On thee with feelings unreprov'd
Her eye with tearful meanings fraught,
She gaz'd till all the body mov'd
Interpreting the Spirit's thought --
Now trembled with thy trembling stem,
And while thou droopedst o'er thy bed,
With imitative sympathy
Inclin'd the drooping head.

She droop'd her head, she stretch'd her arm,
She whisper'd low her witching rhymes,
Fame unrebellious heard the charm,
And bore thee to Pierian climes!
Fear thou no more the Matin Frost
That sparkled on thy bed of snow:
For there, mid laurels ever green,
Immortal thou shalt blow.

Thy petals boast a white more soft,
The spell hath so perfumed thee,
That careless Love shall deem thee oft
A blossom from his Myrtle tree.
Then, laughing at the fair deceit,
Shall race with some Etesian wind
To seek the woven arboret
Where Laura lies reclin'd.

For them, whom Love and Fancy grace,
When human eyes are clos'd in sleep,
Them off the gentle spirits of the place
Waft up that strange unpathway'd steep;
On whose vast summit smooth and broad,
Her nest the Phoenix Bird conceals,
And where by cypresses o'erhung
The heavenly Lethe steals.

A sea-like sound the branches breathe,
Stirr'd by the Breeze that loiters there;
And all, who stretch their limbs beneath,
Forget the coil of mortal care.
Such mists along the margins rise,
As heal the guests who thither come,
And fit the soul to re-endure
Its earthly martyrdom.

The marge, how dear to moonlight elves!
There Zephyr-trembling lilies blow,
And bend to kiss their softer selves
That tremble in the stream below: --
There nightly borne does Laura lie
A magic Slumber heaves her breast:
Her arm, white wanderer of the Harp,
Beneath her cheek is prest.

The Harp uphung by golden chains
Of that low wind which whispers round,
With coy reproachfulness complains,
In snatches of reluctant sound:
The music hovers half-perceiv'd,
And only moulds the slumberer's dreams;
Remember'd Loves light up her cheek
With Youth's returning gleams.

The Loves trip round her all the night;
And Pity hates the morning's birth,
That rudely warns the ling'ring Sprite
Whose plumes must waft her back to earth!
Meek Pity, that foreruns relief,
Yet still assumes the hues of woe;
Pale promiser of rosy Spring,
A snow-drop mid the snow.




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