Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Sonnets attempted in the Manner of Contemporary Writers

I Pensive at eve on the hard world I mus'd, And my poor heart was sad: so at the Moon I gaz'd—and sigh'd, and sigh'd!—for, ah! how soon Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd With tearful vacancy the dampy grass Which wept and glitter'd in the paly ray; And I did pause me on my lonely way, And mused me on those wretched ones who pass O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, alas! Most of Myself I thought: when it befell That the sooth Spirit of the breezy wood Breath'd in mine ear—'All this is very well; But much of one thing is for no thing good.' Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell! II TO SIMPLICITY O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity! For of thy lays the lulling simpleness Goes to my heart and soothes each small distress, Distress though small, yet haply great to me! 'Tis true on Lady Fortune's gentlest pad I amble on; yet, though I know not why, So sad I am!—but should a friend and I Grow cool and miff, O! I am very sad! And then with sonnets and with sympathy My dreamy bosom's mystic woes I pall; Now of my false friend plaining plaintively, Now raving at mankind in general; But, whether sad or fierce, 'tis simple all, All very simple, meek Simplicity! III ON A RUINED HOUSE IN A ROMANTIC COUNTRY And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd, Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild, Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt. Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade? Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn. What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn, Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd; And aye beside her stalks her amorous knight! Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn, And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn, His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white; As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!