WORK WITHOUT HOPE
by: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
(1772-1834)
- LL Nature
seems at work. Slugs leave their lair--
- The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--
- And Winter, slumbering in the open air,
- Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
- And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
- Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
-
- Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
- Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
- Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
- For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
- With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
- And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
- Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
- And Hope without an object cannot live.
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