Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme <br />Elaborate and swelling; yet the heart <br />Not owns it. From thy spirit-breathing powers <br />I ask not now, my friend! the aiding verse <br />Tedious to thee, and from thy anxious thought <br />Of dissonant mood. In fancy (well I know) <br />From business wand'ring far and local cares, <br />Thou creepest round a dear-loved sister's bed <br />With noiseless step, and watchest the faint look, <br />Soothing each pang with fond solicitude, <br />And tenderest tones medicinal of love. <br />I, too, a sister had, an only sister -- <br />She loved me dearly, and I doted on her; <br />To her I pour'd forth all my puny sorrows; <br />(As a sick patient in a nurse's arms,) <br />And of the heart those hidden maladies <br />That e'en from friendship's eye will shrink ashamed. <br />O! I have waked at midnight, and have wept <br />Because she was not! Cheerily, dear Charles! <br />Thou thy best friend shalt cherish many a year; <br />Such warm presages feel I of high hope! <br />For not uninterested the dear maid <br />I've view'd her soul affectionate yet wise, <br />Her polish'd wit as mild as lambent glories <br />That play around a sainted infant's head. <br />He knows (the Spirit that in secret sees, <br />Of whose omniscient and all-spreading love <br />Aught to implore were impotence of mind!) <br />That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne, <br />Prepared, when He his healing ray vouchsafes, <br />Thanksgiving to pour forth with lifted heart, <br />And praise him gracious with a brother's joy! <br /> <br />Dec. 1794<br /><br />Samuel Taylor Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-friend-with-an-unfinished-poem/
