stardust

"THE ROSE." (Poem). Author: S. Taylor Coleridge.

As late each flower that sweetest blows
I plucked, the Garden´s pride!!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.

Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue;
All purple glowed his cheek, beneath,
Inebriate with dew.

I softly seized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest:
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spotless Sara´s breast.

But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile
And stamped his faery feet.

Ah!! soon the soul-entracing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!!
He gazed!! he thrilled with deep delight!!
Then clapped his wings for joy.

"And O!!" he cried - "of magic kind
What charms this Throne endear!!
Some other Love let Venus find -
I´ll fix My Empire here."

Author: S. Taylor Coleridge.

Sartor

stardust.......The Rose is a delightful love poem. I see within the plucked flower, the Faery of love, which once given to Sara by the teller of the story, causes her to fall in love with him. Is that the way you interpret the poem? So many times metaphors mean different things to different people. I am always curious as to how others define the metaphors. Thank you for bringing this poem to my attention. I am not a reader or follower of S. Taylor Coleridge although perhaps I shall look him up. From your posts I assume he is one of your favorites.

stardust

Hi Sartor: Thank you for reading this lovely poem and making good comments about it!! In order to interpret metaphors, you ought to understand the story teller´s mind. The way the Poet lays his poetry is through the magic of the stanzas, and the beat or cadence or rhythm of the words. "The Rose" is another magical poem of Coleridge. In this poem, I focus my attention in the first stanza and the third one. Those two, give me the clues and answers. For instance, "I spied a sleeping Love within the petals of a Rose..." is the way this poem should be read or grammatically correct. However, there is License in Poetry for the Poets to write their magic in Poetry, in order to enchant and magnetize the Readers. This is the way I view a poem: through its magic or how it makes me feel...A good poem should transport one to another level, up high in emotions. In the third stanza, I see the story teller saying: "I am caged within the flower on spotless Sara´s breast..." Coleridge used another way to say it, but I believe that, this was the meaning the Poet had wanted to say. In brief, the Poet was in Love with Sara. You see, Poets write their poems with License in English Grammar. They do not necessarily write their poems with the correct word-order in average English Writings. Prose is a different story. Good Novelist Writers must respect correct English Grammar and well-written sentences, respecting the word-order and good punctuation marks. As I said, Poetry has a rainbow of License of free writings, one might choose to express one´s inner thoughts. My Poetry varies according to my mood. I use free rhyme and free metrical stanzas. However, I use magical images and metaphors, which transport the readers to another dimension. I always leave them for wanting a bit more of me...I use magic to enchant the readers. You see, my avatar says a lot about me: I am like a little Fairy. She is here, or there or perhaps, some place else. She could appear or vanish, in an instant of time. My mind has lots of Fantasies, and I use them in all my writings. I am a Story Teller and a Poet. I call myself: "The Christian Poet and Advocate for the Helpless and their Rights to Live." I am a Whispering Sound Riding in the Wind. I am working on my next Novel. I call it: "AMAZONE." I should go there with a group of Explorers to paint and study the Environment first. The Amazone Rainforest has got many different colours, the colours of Mother Nature. Although, the people there have strange practices. So, I´ll see what happens...Well, it´s been a real pleasure for me to see you here, stopping by and leaving a nice path of good comments in this work of Art: Poet Coleridge, one of the best. Happy Holidays!! Bye for now. Regards, Stardust.

Sartor

Stardust......Thank you for your reply to my reply to your poem. (LOL..in fact you replied twice) In this same forum that you have posted "The R0ose", I have placed a thread entitled "Romeo". I would be interested in your response to that poem.

stardust

Hello Sartor: I have just got it here, and read your post. Thank you for your gentle reply!! YES!! I would read your poem "Romeo", as soon as I find it, and make comments about it. But, Where is it, dear??...Let me know what Forum is it, Sartor, please!! Happy New Year 2007!! Sincerely, Stardust.:word_thankyou:

Sartor

Stardust my dear.........it is right here........in this forum......the title is 'ROMEO' .......it is here in Discussion Of Poetic Types. Smiles to you.

stardust

Dear Sartor: YES!!...I found your lovely Poem "ROMEO", and I did reply to it many times. I am so sorry, but I have just seen this post/reply from you. So, I apologyze to you for not replying back before. Thank you so much for writing to me, sweetie!! I am so sorry for not reading this before, Sartor. Would you forgive me, please??...I am pretty busy taking care of my old aunties, who really need me so much. They are almost 95 years old. One has just gone to a Nursing Home, but she was in Hospital up to yesterday. My daughter also visited my aunties (her great-aunties, my father´s sisters) and me last week. My daughter (a New Yorker) left back to New York, where she lives, for the Easter Holidays to spend with her children (my grandchildren) and her family. I would probably be going back to New York soon, to live with my own folks. God bless you, Sartor!! I hope, you had a Happy Easter with your loved ones. I spent Easter Sunday with my aunties in Hospital. My daughter is coming back with her children to visit me, her aunties and my eldest auntie on her 95th Birthday in May. So, she is happy about it!! The Lord is coming on our way!!...Blessings to you!! You are a great poet, dear. Sincerely, Starry.

mirabai

There's another poem called billy's rose i used to like a lot:
BILLY'S ROSE
by
George R. Sims ( 1847 - 1922 )

Billy's dead and gone to glory - so has Billy's sister Nell:
There's a tale I know about them were I poet I would tell
Soft it comes, with perfume laden like a breath of country air
Wafted down that filthy alley bringing fragrant odors there

In that vile and filthy alley long ago one Winter's day
Dying quick of want and fever ,hapless ,patient Billy lay
while beside him sat his sister, in the garret's dismal gloom
Cheering with her gentle presence Billy's pathway to the tomb

Many a tale of elf and fairy did she tell the dying child
Till his eyes lost half their anguish and his worn, wan features smiled
Tales herself she heard hap-hazard, caught amid the Babel roar
Lisped about by tiny gossips playing round their mother's door

Then she felt his wasted fingers tighten feebly as she told
How beyond this dismal alley lay a land of shining gold,
Where when all the pain was over - when all the tears were shed -
He would be a white frocked angel , with a gold thing on his head.

Then she told some garbled story of a kind-eyed Savior's love
How he built for little children great big playgrounds up above
Where they sang and played at hop-scotch and at horses all the day
And where the beadles or policemen never frightened them away

This was Nell's idea of heaven - just a bit of what she'd heard,
With a little bit invented, with a little bit inferred.
But her brother lay and listened, and he seemed to understand,
For he closed his eyes and murmured he could see the Promised Land

"Yes" he whispered " I can see it sister Nell;
Oh the children look so happy, they are all so strong and well;
I can see them there with Jesus-He is playing with them too!
Let us run away and join them, if there's room for me and you"

She was eight this little maiden, and her life had all been spent
In the garret and the alley where they starved to pay the rent
When a drunken father's curses and a drunken mother's blows
Drove her forth into the gutter from the day's dawn to its close.

But she knew enough, this outcast, just to tell the sinking boy,
"You must die before you are able all these blessings to enjoy.
You must die," she whispered, "Billy I am not even ill;
But I will come to you dear brother, - yes, I promise that I will.

"You are dying, little brother, you are dying ,oh so fast;
I heard father say to mother that he knew you couldn't last
They will put you in a coffin, then you'll wake and be up there
While I am left alone to suffer, in this garret bleak and bare."

"Yes I know it," answered Billy." Ah - sister I do not mind.
Gentle Jesus will not beat me he's not cruel or unkind.
But I can't help thinking, Nelly I should like to take away
Something sister that you gave me I might look at every day

"In the Summer you remember how the mission took us out
To that great green lovely meadow, where we played and ran about
and the van that took us halted by a bright green patch of land,
Where the fine red blossoms grew dear, half as big as mother's hand.

"Nell I asked the good kind teacher what they called such flowers as those
And I remember that he told me that the pretty name was rose
I have never seen them since ,dear- how I wish that I had one
Just to keep and think of you dear, when I am up beyond the sun."

Not a word spoke little Nelly but at night when Billy slept,
On she flung her scanty garments and then down the stairs she crept.
Through the silent streets of London running nimbly as a fawn,
Running on and running ever till the night had changed to dawn.

When the fogy sun had risen, and the mist had cleared away,
All around her, wrapped in snowdrift, there the open country lay
She was tired, her limbs were frozen, and the roads had cut her feet,
But there came no flowery gardens her poor tearful eyes to greet.

She had found the road by asking she had learnt the way to go
She had found the cruel meadow - it was wrapped in cruel snow,
Not a buttercup or daisy not a single verdant blade
Showed its head above its prison. Then she knelt her down and prayed.

With her eyes up cast to heaven, down she sank upon the ground
And she prayed to God to tell her where the roses might be found
Then the cold blast numbed her senses, and her sight grew strangely dim;
And a sudden awful tremor seem to seize her every limb.

"Oh , rose !" she moaned," good Jesus - just a rose to take to Bill !"
And as she prayed a chariot came thundering down the hill.
A lady sat there toying with a red rose rare and sweet;
As she passed she flung it from her, and it fell at Nelly's feet.

Just a word her lord had spoken caused her ladyship to fret
And the rose had been his present, so she flung it in a pet.
But the poor half blinded Nelly thought it had fallen from the skies
And she murmured," Thank you Jesus ! " as she clasped the dainty prize.

Lo that night from out the alley did a child's soul pass away,
From dirt and sin and misery to where God's children play
Lo that night, a wild fierce snowstorm burst in fury o'er the land
And at morn they found Nell frozen, with the red rose in her hand.

Billy's dead and gone to glory - so has Billy's sister Nell;
Am I bold to say this happened in the land where angels dwell :-
That the children met in heaven after all their earthly woes,
And that Nelly kissed her brother and said," Billy , here's your rose"

stardust