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Love Analysis

Author: poem of Samuel Taylor Coleridge Type: poem Views: 103

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All thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

Are all but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I

Live o'er again that happy hour,

When midway on the mount I lay

Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine stealing o'er the scene

Had blended with the lights of eve;

And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man,

The statue of the armed knight;

She stood and listened to my lay,

Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,

My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!

She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,

I sang an old and moving story—

An old rude song, that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace;

For well she knew I could not choose

But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore

Upon his shield a burning brand;

And that for ten long years he wooed

The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!

The deep, the low, the pleading tone

With which I sang another's love

Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace;

And she forgave me, that I gazed

Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn

That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,

And that he crossed the mountain-woods,

Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,

And sometimes from the darksome shade,

And sometimes starting up at once

In green and sunny glade,—

There came and looked him in the face

An angel beautiful and bright;

And that he knew it was a Fiend,

This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,

He leaped amid a murderous band,

And saved from outrage worse than death

The Lady of the Land;

And how she wept, and clasped his knees;

And how she tended him in vain;

And ever strove to expiate

The scorn that crazed his brain;—

And that she nursed him in a cave;

And how his madness went away,

When on the yellow forest-leaves

A dying man he lay;—

His dying words—but when I reached

That tenderest strain of all the ditty,

My faltering voice and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense

Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;

The music and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,

An undistinguishable throng,

And gentle wishes long subdued,

Subdued and cherished long!

She wept with pity and delight,

She blushed with love, and virgin shame;

And like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved—she stepped aside,

As conscious of my look she stepped—

Then suddenly, with timorous eye,

She fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms,

She pressed me with a meek embrace;

And bending back her head, looked up,

And gazed upon my face.

'Twas partly love, and partly fear,

And partly 'twas a bashful art,

That I might rather feel, than see,

The swelling of her heart.

I calmed her fears, and she was calm,

And told her love with virgin pride;

And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous Bride.


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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

.: :.

I'm laying low (under dotcor's orders) cause I snuck off and had some major surgery last week. (A big secret to all but a few!) Good news is that I feel so great, I've not even had 1 pain pill ..not one! Bad news is, I'm not allowed to drive or do much of anything yet. Seems my body's got some hidden healing to do. So I've gone underground . Ya know, it's sometimes hard to accept the love you're blessed with at least it is for me.It's actually been quite difficult for me to receive all the food makin' and errand runnin' and chore doin' I've been gifted with. I'm trying to breathe it all in and know it's okay to ask for help.I'm so very grateful for such loving friends and family. (I want to send each and every one of them a big sappy love letter.) So, with all this freedom, it's to the sketchbook I've gone. With oodles of time to dawdle and daydream, I'm making lots of yummy plans. My creative heart is filling with so many ideas, that I'm tempted to take an extended blogging hiatus for perhaps the entire year of 2012! What? What! I dunno. I just don't know yet. But I'm feeling pulled in that direction I'm dreaming of spending the year in total creative immersion. Lot's of what if's are floating around ..for instance, what if I did nothing but paint for an entire year? What if I spent every day in the studio or on inspiring artist dates? What if our home became a huge creative project in itself this year?I'd so dig that.And there's much to be done to flesh out the art journaling class I'm leading in the Spring .So much to be excited about so much I want to do.So I'll sit with it during this forced downtime of mine and let you know what comes of it you'll be the first to know!

| Posted on 2013-11-15 | by a guest

.: :.

Absolutely stunning Carole. This is a pefcert example of simplicity in photography and balance in composition! I'm teaching my kids about this now and would love to use it as an example for them with your permission! x x

| Posted on 2013-11-14 | by a guest

.: :.

It really has been. The kids were loniokg out the window just tonight saying, "there are those birds, Mom!" It's really interesting how they seem to show up every night around the same time, hang out for a while, then fly away. :)

| Posted on 2013-11-13 | by a guest

.: :.

Deepak, that is an excellent qtuseion. I have no idea if we are approaching the end of wave A. I can visualize the end of a fifth wave approaching. So I get ready for clues to buy. As repeated so often in this blog, (and also in my book), our goal is to make money. Not to be proved that we are brilliant wave labellers.

| Posted on 2013-11-12 | by a guest

.: :.

why did he write this?
and how was he feeling?
and what is it really about?

| Posted on 2008-07-18 | by a guest

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