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Friday, January 07, 2005
To Nature
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
It may indeed be fantasy, when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings,
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety.
So let it be! And if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
And the sweet fragrance that the wild-flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to thee-
Thee only, God! and thou shall not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.
posted by gbarto at 1:48 AM
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