Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Sonnet: To Charles Lloyd

The piteous sobs that choke the Virgin's breath        &nbspFor him, the fair betrothéd Youth, who lies        &nbspCold in the narrow dwelling, or the cries With which a Mother wails her darling's death, These from our nature's common impulse spring, Unblam'd, unprais'd; but o'er the piléd earth        &nbspWhich hides the sheeted corse of grey-hair'd Worth,        &nbspIf droops the soaring Youth with slacken'd wing; If he recall in saddest minstrelsy        &nbspEach tenderness bestow'd, each truth imprest, Such grief is Reason, Virtue, Piety! And from the Almighty Father shall descend        &nbspComforts on his late evening, whose young breast Mourns with no transient love the Agéd Friend.