Work Without Hope

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

1772 to 1834

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

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