reviews
Apr 01, 2011
What can I say about Coleridge? You are inexplicably drawn to the heart and soul and beauty. Well, maybe not so inexplicable. His poetry calls to me, the siren drawing me to the rocks of despair. His plays, the bread and butter of my master's degree. Highly intelligent, sadness abounding, but a true craftsman of words and ideas, going to a level you did not think possible.
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Dec 25, 2010
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.
Belovéd ! 'tis not thine ; thou art not there !
Then melts the bubble into idle air,
And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.
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