| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | IV. On the Death of Coleridge | | By Washington Allston (1779–1843) |
| | | AND thou art gone, most loved, most honored friend! | |
| No, nevermore thy gentle voice shall blend | |
| With air of earth its pure ideal tones, | |
| Binding in one, as with harmonious zones, | |
| The heart and intellect. And I no more | 5 |
| Shall with thee gaze on that unfathomed deep, | |
| The human soul; as when, pushed off the shore, | |
| Thy mystic bark would through the darkness sweep, | |
| Itself the while so bright! For oft we seemed | |
| As on some starless sea,—all dark above, | 10 |
| All dark below,—yet, onward as we drove, | |
| To plough up light that ever round us streamed. | |
| But he who mourns is not as one bereft | |
| Of all he loved:—thy living truths are left. | | | | |
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