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A beautiful, yet a bit too intense reading, something that I note with many people that recite Coleridge. Why the forcefulness? It’s about a blossom. Last time I checked, blossoms are SOFT. – Then again, is this poem really about flowers?! 😉

Among other things, you might want to read up here: The Great Sejm.

Below, the original text, via Poemhunter:

Lines On Observing A Blossom,

On The First Of February, 1796

Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem 
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort 
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month 
Hath borrowed Zephyr’s voice, and gazed upon thee 
With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor flower! 
These are but flatteries of the faithless year. 
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave, 
E’en now the keen north-east is on its way. 
Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee 
To some sweet girl of too, too rapid growth, 
Nipped by consumption mid untimely charms? 
Or to Bristowa’s bard, the wond’rous boy! 
As amaranth, which earth scarce seemed to own, 
Till disappointment come, and pelting wrong 
Beat it to earth? or with indignant grief 
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland’s hope, 
Bright flower of hope killed in the opening bud? 
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine 
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes 
Weaving in moral strains, I’ve stolen one hour 
From anxious self, life’s cruel taskmaster! 
And the warm wooings of this sunny day 
Tremble along my frame, and harmonize 
The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts 
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes 
Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument.