Hence that fantastic wantonness of woe, <br />O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear! <br />To plunder'd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go, <br />Go, and some hunger-bitten infant hear <br />Moan haply in a dying mother's ear: <br />Or when the cold and dismal fog-damps brood <br />O'er the rank church-yard with sear elm-leaves strew'd, <br />Pace round some widow's grave, whose dearer part <br />Was slaughter'd, where o'er his uncoffin'd limbs <br />The flocking flesh-birds scream'd! Then, while thy heart <br />Groans, and thine eye a fiercer sorrow dims, <br />Know (and the truth shall kindle thy young mind) <br />What Nature makes thee mourn, she bids thee heal! <br />O abject! if, to sickly dreams resign'd, <br />All effortless thou leave Life's common-weal <br />A prey to Tyrants, Murderers of Mankind.<br /><br />Samuel Taylor Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/addressed-to-a-young-man-of-fortune-who-abandoned-himself-to-an-indolent-and-causeless-melancholy/
