Poems By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge |
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| XX. |
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| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
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| XL. |
| XLI. |
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| XLV. |
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| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. | LISUN AND STORM |
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| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
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| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
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| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
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| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
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| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
 | LXXXI. |
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| LXXXIV. |
| LXXXV. |
| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
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| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
| XCI. |
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| C. |
| CI. |
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| CIX. |
| CX. |
| CXI. |
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| CXX. |
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| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
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| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
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| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
| CXXXVII. |
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| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
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| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CLXVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. |
| 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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| CC. |
| CCI. |
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| CCIV. |
| CCV. |
| CCVI. |
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| CCIX. |
| CCX. |
| CCXI. |
| CCXII. |
| CCXIII. |
| CCXIV. |
| CCXV. |
| CCXVI. |
| CCXVII. |
| CCXVIII. |
| CCXIX. |
| CCXX. |
| CCXXI. |
| CCXXII. |
| CCXXIII. |
| CCXXIV. |
| CCXXV. |
| CCXXVI. |
| CCXXVII. |
| CCXXVIII. |
| CCXXIX. |
| CCXXX. |
| CCXXXI. |
| CCXXXII. |
| CCXXXIII. |
| CCXXXIV. |
| CCXXXV. |
| CCXXXVI. |
| CCXXXVII. |
 | Poems |  |
LI
SUN AND STORM
Open your gates, ye skies, and let the host
Of gathered waters fall, and drown the earth!
Your hour of utmost terror is the ghost
Of that when Grief had birth.
Of gathered waters fall, and drown the earth!
Your hour of utmost terror is the ghost
Of that when Grief had birth.
The all-resplendent Spring, the pomp of May,
Through white and golden flowers the virgin light,
Are but a thin gray shadow of the day
When Joy was at her height.
Through white and golden flowers the virgin light,
Are but a thin gray shadow of the day
When Joy was at her height.
| Poems | |