Sonnet VII by Hartley Coleridge

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No,
It is immortal as immaculate Truth.
‘Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth
Drops from the stem of life—for it will grow
In barren regions, where no waters flow,
Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o’er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness nought doth shew,
It is my love’s being,—yet it cannot die,
Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;
Tho’ fairest beauty be no longer fair,
Tho’ vows be false, and faith itself deny,
Tho’ sharp enjoyment be a suicide,
And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.

From: Coleridge, Hartley, Poems by Hartley Coleridge with a Memoir of his Life by his Brother, Volume I (2nd edition), 1851, Edward Moxon: London, p. 11.
(https://archive.org/stream/poemscolerid1coleuoft#page/10/mode/2up_

Date: 1833

By: Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849)

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