Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Work without Hope

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair--
The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing--
And WINTER slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring !
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where Amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye Amaranths ! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not ! Glide, rich streams, away !
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll :
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul ?
WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve,
And HOPE without an object cannot live. 

1. Home-Sick. Written In Germany
2. Duty Surviving Self-Love, the Only Sure Friend of Declining Life
3. To a Lady, Offended by a Sportive Observation That Women Have No Souls
4. To the Autumnal Moon
5. The Picture, Or The Lover's Resolution

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