Samuel Taylor Coleridge
"With no other privilege than that of sympathy and sincere good wishes, I would address an affectionate exhortation to the youthful literati, grounded on my own experience. It will be but short; for the beginning, middle, and end converge to one charge: NEVER PURSUE LITERATURE AS A TRADE."
"While I approve myself, alike in praise and in blame, in close reasoning and in impassioned declamation, a steady FRIEND to the two best and surest friends of all men, TRUTH and HONESTY; I will not fear an accusation of either Presumption or Arrogance from the good and the wise, I shall pity it from the weak, and welcome it from the wicked."
"I never object to a certain degree of disputatiousness in a young man from the age of seventeen to that of four or five and twenty, provided I find him always arguing on one side of the question."
"It is a flat'ning Thought, that the more we have seen, the less we have to say."
In Xanadu did Kubla KhanA stately pleasure-dome decree :Where Alph, the sacred river, ranThrough caverns measureless to manDown to a sunless sea.So twice five miles of fertile groundWith walls and towers were girdled round :And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;And here were forests ancient as the hills,Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
Water, water, everywhere,And all the boards did shrink;Water, water, everywhere,Nor any drop to drink.
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair--The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--And WINTER slumbering in the open air,Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring !And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.Yet well I ken the banks where Amaranths blow,Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.Bloom, O ye Amaranths ! bloom for whom ye may,For me ye bloom not ! Glide, rich streams, away !With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll :And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul ?WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve,And HOPE without an object cannot live.
Stop, Christian passer-by : Stop, child of God, And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he-- O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.-- That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death : Mercy for praise--to be forgiven for fame-- He ask'd, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same.