LOVE


by: Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)


ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.



Oft in my waking dreams do I

Live o'er again that happy hour,

When midway on the mount I lay,

Beside the ruin'd tower.



The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,

Had blended with the lights of eve;

And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!



(...)