Sara Coleridge (1802–1852)

HE came unlook’d for, undesir’d,

A sun-rise in the northern sky:

More than the brightest dawn admir’d,

To shine and then for ever fly.

His love, conferr’d without a claim,

Perchance was like the fitful blaze,

Which lives to light a steadier flame,

And, while that strengthens, fast decays.

Glad fawn along the forest springing,

Gay birds that breeze-like stir the leaves,

Why hither haste, no message bringing

To solace one that deeply grieves?

Thou star that dost the skies adorn

So brightly heralding the day,

Bring one more welcome than the morn,

Or still in night’s dark prison stay.