Samuel Taylor Coleridge — A Wish

Lo! through the dusky silence of the groves, Thro' vales irriguous, and thro' green retreats, With languid murmur creeps the placid stream        &nbsp       &nbspAnd works its secret way. Awhile meand'ring round its native fields It rolls the playful wave and winds its flight: Then downward flowing with awaken'd speed        &nbsp       &nbspEmbosoms in the Deep! Thus thro' its silent tenor may my Life Smooth its meek stream by sordid wealth unclogg'd, Alike unconscious of forensic storms,        &nbsp       &nbspAnd Glory's blood-stain'd palm! And when dark Age shall close Life's little day, Satiate of sport, and weary of its toils, E'en thus may slumbrous Death my decent limbs        &nbsp       &nbspCompose with icy hand!