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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512884" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Friend Who Had Declared His Intention Of Writing No More Poetry</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear Charles! whilst yet thou wert a babe, I ween<br>That Genius plunged thee in that wizard fount<br>High Castalie: and (sureties of thy faith)<br>That Pity and Simplicity stood by.<br>And promised for thee that thou shouldst renounce<br>The world's low cares and lying vanities,<br>Steadfast and rooted in the heavenly Muse,<br>And washed and sanctified to Poesy.<br>Yes -- thou wert plunged but with forgetful hand<br>Held, as by Thetis erst her warrior son:<br>And with those recreant unbaptized heels<br>Thou'rt flying from thy bounden minist'ries--<br>So sore it seems and burthensome a task<br>To weave unwithering flowers! But take thou heed:<br>For thou art vulnerable, wild-eyed boy,<br>And I have arrows mystically dipt,<br>Such as may stop thy speed. Is thy Burns dead?<br>And shall he die unwept, and sink to earth<br>'Without the meed of one melodious tear?'<br>Thy Burns, and Nature's own beloved bard,<br>Who to the 'Illustrious of his native Land,<br>So properly did look for patronage.' <br>Ghost of Maecenas! hide thy blushing face!<br>They snatched him from the sickle and the plough--<br>To gauge ale-firkins.<br>Oh! for shame return!<br>On a bleak rock, midway the Aonian mount,<br>There stands a lone and melancholy tree,<br>Whose aged branches to the midnight blast<br>Make solemn music: pluck its darkest bough,<br>Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be exhaled,<br>And weeping wreath it round thy Poet's tomb.<br>Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow,<br>Pick the rank henbane and the dusky flowers<br>Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit,<br>These with stopped nostril and glove-guarded hand<br>Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine,<br>The illustrious brow of Scotch Nobility.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Samuel+Taylor+Coleridge">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512884" data-title="To A Friend Who Had Declared His Intention Of Writing No More Poetry de Samuel Taylor Coleridge" data-description="Dear Charles! whilst yet thou wert a babe, I ween
That Genius plunged thee in that wizard fount
High Castalie: and (sureties of thy faith)
That Pity and Simplicity stood by.
And promised for thee that thou shouldst renounce
The world's low cares a..."></div>
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