And when they to a million mount,
Let confusion take the account,--
That you, the number never knowing,
May continue still bestowing--
That I for joys may never pine,
Which never can again be mine!
Let confusion take the account,--
That you, the number never knowing,
May continue still bestowing--
That I for joys may never pine,
Which never can again be mine!
Coleridge - Poems
they only mean
Their mistress has lain down to sleep,
And can't just then be seen.
? 183O.
NAMES
[FROM LESSING]
I ask'd my fair one happy day,
What I should call her in my lay;
By what sweet name from Rome or Greece;
Lalage, Nesera, Chloris,
Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,
Arethusa or Lucrece.
"Ah! " replied my gentle fair,
"Beloved, what are names but air?
Choose thou whatever suits the line;
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,
Call me Lalage or Doris,
Only, only call me Thine. "
_Morning Post_, August 27,1799.
TO LESBIA
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus. --CATULLUS.
My Lesbia, let us love and live,
And to the winds, my Lesbia, give
Each cold restraint, each boding fear
Of age and all her saws severe.
Yon sun now posting to the main
Will set,--but 'tis to rise again;--
But we, when once our mortal light
Is set, must sleep in endless night.
Then come, with whom alone I'll live,
A thousand kisses take and give!
Another thousand! --to the store
Add hundreds--then a thousand more!
And when they to a million mount,
Let confusion take the account,--
That you, the number never knowing,
May continue still bestowing--
That I for joys may never pine,
Which never can again be mine!
_Morning Post_, April 11, 1798.
THE DEATH OF THE STARLING
Lugete, O Veneres, Cupidinesque. --CATULLUS.
Pity! mourn in plaintive tone
The lovely starling dead and gone!
Pity mourns in plaintive tone
The lovely starling dead and gone.
Weep, ye Loves! and Venus! weep
The lovely starling fall'n asleep!
Venus sees with tearful eyes--
In her lap the starling lies!
While the Loves all in a ring
Softly stroke the stiffen'd wing.
? 1794.
ON A CATARACT
FROM A CAVERN NEAR THE SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN PRECIPICE
[AFTER STOLBERG'S _UNSTERBLICHER JUNGLING_]
STROPHE
Unperishing youth!
Thou leapest from forth
The cell of thy hidden nativity;
Never mortal saw
The cradle of the strong one;
Never mortal heard
The gathering of his voices;
The deep-murmur'd charm of the son of the rock,
That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless fountain.
Their mistress has lain down to sleep,
And can't just then be seen.
? 183O.
NAMES
[FROM LESSING]
I ask'd my fair one happy day,
What I should call her in my lay;
By what sweet name from Rome or Greece;
Lalage, Nesera, Chloris,
Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,
Arethusa or Lucrece.
"Ah! " replied my gentle fair,
"Beloved, what are names but air?
Choose thou whatever suits the line;
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,
Call me Lalage or Doris,
Only, only call me Thine. "
_Morning Post_, August 27,1799.
TO LESBIA
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus. --CATULLUS.
My Lesbia, let us love and live,
And to the winds, my Lesbia, give
Each cold restraint, each boding fear
Of age and all her saws severe.
Yon sun now posting to the main
Will set,--but 'tis to rise again;--
But we, when once our mortal light
Is set, must sleep in endless night.
Then come, with whom alone I'll live,
A thousand kisses take and give!
Another thousand! --to the store
Add hundreds--then a thousand more!
And when they to a million mount,
Let confusion take the account,--
That you, the number never knowing,
May continue still bestowing--
That I for joys may never pine,
Which never can again be mine!
_Morning Post_, April 11, 1798.
THE DEATH OF THE STARLING
Lugete, O Veneres, Cupidinesque. --CATULLUS.
Pity! mourn in plaintive tone
The lovely starling dead and gone!
Pity mourns in plaintive tone
The lovely starling dead and gone.
Weep, ye Loves! and Venus! weep
The lovely starling fall'n asleep!
Venus sees with tearful eyes--
In her lap the starling lies!
While the Loves all in a ring
Softly stroke the stiffen'd wing.
? 1794.
ON A CATARACT
FROM A CAVERN NEAR THE SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN PRECIPICE
[AFTER STOLBERG'S _UNSTERBLICHER JUNGLING_]
STROPHE
Unperishing youth!
Thou leapest from forth
The cell of thy hidden nativity;
Never mortal saw
The cradle of the strong one;
Never mortal heard
The gathering of his voices;
The deep-murmur'd charm of the son of the rock,
That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless fountain.
