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Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge


To Nature


It may indeed be fantasy when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety.
So let it be; and if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
Thee only God! and thou shalt not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice. 



Samuel Taylor Coleridge


Samuel Taylor Coleridge's other poems:
  1. Lines
  2. The Pang More Sharp Than All
  3. To an Infant
  4. Lines Written after a Walk before Supper
  5. Cologne


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