Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Imitated from the Welsh

If, while my passion I impart,
You deem my words untrue,
O place your hand upon my heart,
Feel how it throbs for you!

Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim
In pity to your lover!
That thrilling touch would aid the flame
It wishes to discover. 

1. Lines
2. Lines Composed in a Concert-Room
3. To a Friend, with an Unfinished Poem
4. To an Unfortunate Woman at the Theatre
5. Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath

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