Love

It was as calm as this, that happy night
When Mary, thou, and I together were,
The low decaying Fire our only Light,
And listen’d to the Stillness of the Air!
O that affectionate and blameless Maid,
Dear Mary! on her Lap my head she lay’d –
Her Hand was on my Brow,
Even as my own is now;
And on my Check, I felt the eye-lash play.
Such joy I had, that I may truly say,
My spirit was awe-stricken with the Excess
And trance-like Depth of its brief Happiness.

From Dejection / A Letter / on selected poetry of S.T. Coleridge