Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834)

Sonnet. Composed on a Journey Homewards

The Author Having Received Intelligence of the Birth of a Son, Sept. 20, 1796.

OFT o’er my brain does that strange fancy roll

Which makes the present (while the flash doth last)

Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past,

Mixed with such feelings, as perplex the soul

Self-questioned in her sleep: and some have said

We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore.

O my sweet baby! when I reach my door,

If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead

(As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear)

I think, that I should struggle to believe

Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere

Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve;

Did’st scream, then spring to meet Heaven’s quick reprieve,

While we wept idly o’er thy little bier!