| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | VIII. News of the Birth of a Child | | By Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) |
| | (Composed on a journey homeward, the author having received intelligence of the birth of a son, September 20, 1796) |
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OFT o’er my brain does that strange fancy roll | |
| Which makes the present (while the flash doth last) | |
| Seem a mere semblance of some unknown past, | |
| Mixed with such feelings as perplex the soul | |
| Self-questioned in her sleep; and some have said | 5 |
| We lived, ere yet this robe of flesh we wore. | |
| O my sweet baby! when I reach my door, | |
| If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead | |
| (As sometimes, through excess of hope, I fear) | |
| I think that I should struggle to believe | 10 |
| Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere | |
| Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve; | |
| Didst scream, then spring to meet Heaven’s quick reprieve, | |
| While we wept idly o’er thy little bier. | | | |
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