Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/91



ISTER of love-lorn Poets, Philomel! How many Bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint Lamp-beam on the kennell'd mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen, (Those hoarse unfeather'd Nightingales of !) How many wretched Bards address thy name. And Her's, the full-orb'd Queen, that shines above. But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark, Within whose mild moon-mellow'd foliage hid Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains, O! have I listen'd, till my working soul, Wak'd by those strains to thousand phantasies, Absorb'd hath ceas'd to listen! Therefore oft,