Samuel Taylor Coleridge

For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone.

Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone.

So lonely 'twas that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

So lonely 'twas that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

Language is the armory of the human mind, and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons read more

Language is the armory of the human mind, and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons of its future conquests.

O! lady, we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone doth nature live;
Ours read more

O! lady, we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone doth nature live;
Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!