Hartley Coleridge (1796–1849)

FAIR maid, had I not heard thy baby cries,

Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude,

Thy mazy motions, striving to elude,

Yet wooing still a parent’s watchful eyes,

Thy humours, many as the opal’s dyes,

And lovely all;—methinks thy scornful mood,

And bearing high of stately womanhood,—

Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize

O’er humble love, had made me sadly fear thee;

For never sure was seen a royal bride,

Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride—

My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee:

But when I see thee at thy father’s side,

Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee.