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16
Clevedon.
He missed the fresh, salt, eastern airs that blow,
The mills that whirl their white arms in the wind;
His father's ashes he had left, to find
Love's heart inurned where Severn's waters flow.
Here in the marsh the hollow reeds might grow
For sound to suit the sorrow of his mind;
But grief needs friendly ears to keep it kind,
And his beloved unheeding lies below.
The mills that whirl their white arms in the wind;
His father's ashes he had left, to find
Love's heart inurned where Severn's waters flow.
Here in the marsh the hollow reeds might grow
For sound to suit the sorrow of his mind;
But grief needs friendly ears to keep it kind,
And his beloved unheeding lies below.
Then to sad eyes thy cottage gave reproof—
Thy cottage, Coleridge, by the western sea,
Its simple chimneys and its gable-end;
For he remembered there his chamber-roof,
Hid in the poplar shade of Somersby!
And the lone poet found in thee a friend.
Thy cottage, Coleridge, by the western sea,
Its simple chimneys and its gable-end;
For he remembered there his chamber-roof,
Hid in the poplar shade of Somersby!
And the lone poet found in thee a friend.
The roof of Coleridge's cottage reminded me of the roof of Somersby Rectory described in In Memoriam, ci. The two brothers wrote much of their earliest poetry in the little garret chamber at the northern gable-end of the Lincolnshire parsonage.
“The poplars four that stand beside my father's door” alas! now only whisper in the Laureate's song.
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