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H. Coleridge: Imitation of Wordsworth
HE LIVED AMIDST TH' UNTRODDEN
WAYS
He lived amidst th' untrodden ways
To Rydal Lake that lead;
A bard whom there were none to praise,
And very few to read.
Behind a cloud his mystic sense,
Deep hiddenj who can spy?
Bright as the night when not a star
Is shining in the sky.
Unread his works—his 'Milk White Doe'
With dust is dark and dim;
It's still in Longman's shop, and oh!
The difference to him!
HARTLEY COLERIDGE
ON A PAINTED WOMAN
To youths, who hurry thus away,
How silly your desire is
At such an early hour to pay
Your compliments to Iris,
Stop, prithee, stop, ye hasty beaux,
No longer urge thisTace on;
Though Iris has put on her clothes,
She has not put her face on.
P. B. SHELLEY
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