Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/272

 But me thy gentle hand will lead At morning through the accustom'd mead; And in the sultry summer's heat Will build me up a mossy seat! And when the gust of Autumn crowds And breaks the busy moonlight-clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding Moon.

The feeling heart, the searching soul, To thee I dedicate the whole! And while within myself I trace The greatness of some future race, Aloof with hermit-eye I scan The present works of present man— A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile, Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!