Poems By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge |
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| X. |
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| XIV. |
| XV. | XVAT FIRST |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
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| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
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| XLV. |
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| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
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| LV. |
| LVI. |
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| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
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| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
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| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
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| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
| XCI. |
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| XCV. |
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| C. |
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| CX. |
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| CXXVII. |
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| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
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| CXXXV. |
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| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
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| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CLXVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
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| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
| CLVI. |
| CLVII. |
| CLVIII. |
| CLIX. |
| CLX. |
| CLXI. |
| CLXII. |
| CLXIII. |
| CLXIV. |
| CLXV. |
| CLXVI. |
| CLXVII. |
| CLXVIII. |
| CLXIX. |
| CLXX. |
| CLXXI. |
| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
| CLXXVII. |
| CLXXVIII. |
| CLXXIX. |
| CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
| CLXXXII. |
| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
| CLXXXV. |
| CLXXXVI. |
| CLXXXVII. |
| CLXXXVIII. |
| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
| CXCI. |
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| CXCIII. |
| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
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| CXCIX. |
| CC. |
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| CCV. |
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| CCX. |
| CCXI. |
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| CCXIV. |
| CCXV. |
| CCXVI. |
| CCXVII. |
| CCXVIII. |
| CCXIX. |
| CCXX. |
| CCXXI. |
| CCXXII. |
| CCXXIII. |
| CCXXIV. |
| CCXXV. |
| CCXXVI. |
| CCXXVII. |
| CCXXVIII. |
| CCXXIX. |
| CCXXX. |
| CCXXXI. |
| CCXXXII. |
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| CCXXXIV. |
| CCXXXV. |
| CCXXXVI. |
| CCXXXVII. |
 | Poems |  |
14
XV
AT FIRST
The grief of age is not the grief of youth;
A child is still a child, even in his grieving.
Yet his first sorrow is, in very truth,
Dark, past believing.
A child is still a child, even in his grieving.
Yet his first sorrow is, in very truth,
Dark, past believing.
When first he wanders forth in early spring,
Nor heeds among the flowers each gay newcomer,
When first he hates the happy birds that sing,
The sun that shines in summer.
Nor heeds among the flowers each gay newcomer,
When first he hates the happy birds that sing,
The sun that shines in summer.
| Poems | |