Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834)

To William Linley

WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues,

And I have many friends who hold me dear,

Linley! methinks I would not often hear

Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose

All memory of the wrongs and sore distress

For which my miserable brethren weep!

But should uncomforted misfortunes steep

My daily bread in tears and bitterness,

And if at death’s dread moment I should lie

With no beloved face at my bedside,

To fix the last glance of my closing eye,

Methinks such strains, breathed by my angel guide,

Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,

Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!