SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some poor nigh-related guest That may not rudely be dismist. Yet hath outstay 7 d his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile.
566 Time, Real cmd Imaginary
AN ALLEGORY
ON the wide level of a mountain's head (I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place) , Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread, Two lovely children run an endless race, A sister and a brother' This far outstripped the other; Yet ever runs she with reverted face, And looks and listens for the boy behind.
For he, alas' is blind'
O'er rough and smooth with even step he pass'd, And knows not whether he be first or last.
567 Work without Hope
A^L Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair The bees are stirring birds arc on the wing And Winter, slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring' And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
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