Youth and Age
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1772 to 1834
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
When Youth and I liv'd in't together.
But the tears of mournful eve!
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands,
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
That may not rudely be dismist.
When I was young?—Ah, woful when!
When I was young!
This drooping gait, this altered size:
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:—
I see these locks in silvery slips,
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then!
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes!
Life is but thought: so think I will
That only serves to make us grieve
That Youth and I are house-mates still.
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
Ere I was old.
This body that does me grievous wrong,
And tells the jest without the smile.
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
When we are old:
This breathing house not built with hands,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
'Tis known, that Thou and I were one,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,
How lightly then it flashed along:—
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee—
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
With oft and tedious taking-leave,
Both were mine! Life went a maying
That only serves to make us grieve,
What strange disguise hast now put on,
Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while,
O! the joys, that came down shower-like,
I'll think it but a fond conceit—
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
Like some poor nigh-related guest,
To make believe, that Thou art gone?
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
O Youth! for years so many and sweet