This poem was written February 1798 and published in a quarto pamphlet the same year, then included in the Poetical Register (1808-9) and other collections of Coleridge’s writings from 1812 onwards. (Robert Clark)
| | | The Frost performs its secret ministry, |
| | | Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry |
| | | Came loud - and hark, again! loud as before. |
| | | The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, |
| 5 | | Have left me to that solitude, which suits |
| | | Abstruser musings: save that at my side |
| | | My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. |
| | | 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs |
| | | And vexes meditation with its strange |
| 10 | | And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, |
| | | This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, |
| | | With all the numberless goings-on of life, |
| | | Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame |
| | | Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; |
| 15 | | Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, |
| | | Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. |
| | | Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature |
| | | Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, |
| | | Making it a companionable form, |
| 20 | | Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit |
| | | By its own moods interprets, everywhere |
| | | Echo or mirror seeking of itself, |
| | | And makes a toy of Thought. |
| | | But O! how oft, |
| | | How oft, at school, with most believing mind, |
| 25 | | Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, |
| | | To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft |
| | | With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt |
| | | Of my sweet birthplace, and the old church tower, |
| | | Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang |
| 30 | | From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, |
| | | So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me |
| | | With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear |
| | | Most like articulate sounds of things to come! |
| | | So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt, |
| 35 | | Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams! |
| | | And so I brooded all the following morn, |
| | | Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye |
| | | Fixed with mock study on my swimming book: |
| | | Save if the door half opened, and I snatched |
| 40 | | A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, |
| | | For still I hoped to see the stranger's face, |
| | | Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, |
| | | My play-mate when we both were clothed alike ! |
| | | |
| | | Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, |
| 45 | | Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, |
| | | Fill up the interspersèd vacancies |
| | | And momentary pauses of the thought! |
| | | My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart |
| | | With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, |
| 50 | | And think that thou shalt learn far other lore, |
| | | And in far other scenes! For I was reared |
| | | In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim, |
| | | And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. |
| | | But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze |
| 55 | | By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags |
| | | Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, |
| | | Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores |
| | | And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear |
| | | The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible |
| 60 | | Of that eternal language, which thy God |
| | | Utters, who from eternity doth teach |
| | | Himself in all, and all things in himself. |
| | | Great universal Teacher! he shall mould |
| | | Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. |
| | | |
| 65 | | Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, |
| | | Whether the summer clothe the general earth |
| | | With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing |
| | | Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch |
| | | Of mossy apple tree, while the nigh thatch |
| 70 | | Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall |
| | | Heard only in the trances of the blast, |
| | | Or if the secret ministry of frost |
| | | Shall hang them up in silent icicles, |
| | | Quietly shining to the quiet Moon. |
First published 1798.
Contributed by Robert Clark.
