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Coleridge and Wordsworth Publication of the Lyrical Ballads The Ancient Mariner The first part of Christabel Decline of Coleridge's poetic impulse- Final review of his poetry. The years 1797 and 1798 are generally and justly regarded as the blossoming-time of Coleridge's poetic genius.
He had looked forward to his daughter's coming as a blossoming-time in his life. Maria had not left her bed since the night of her hemorrhage. A mere fortnight in the Territory seemed to have wasted half her little body.
But I am obliged to confess that his preface to his sacred drama, 'The Mother of the Macabees, has completely disarmed me. And this preface can only be perfectly understood by the few friends of his who were closely associated with him in his most beautiful blossoming-time. It contains the most affecting admissions of culpable weaknesses; the most pathetic lamentations over powers for ever lost.
So he held the old sinner's hand, with whom he had played so many games of bézique and had so many good drinks, while the poor foolish soul in mortal agony fluttered over the threshold of the door that leads from life to death. The summer after her father's death seemed to bring a wonderful blossoming-time to the young girl. That was a summer!
The soul is then in its blossoming-time, and all high enthusiasms, all bright dreams, all thrilling joys, are realities which inwork themselves into the consciousness, to be forgotten never; to remain with us as prophecies of the eternal springtime that awaits the true-hearted on the hills of God beyond the grave, or as accusing voices charging us with the murder of our dead ideals!
The bobolinks are generally chance visitors, tinkling through the garden in blossoming-time, but this year, owing to the long rains early in the season, their favorite meadows were flooded, and they were driven to the upland. So I had a pair of them domiciled in my grass field.
They are two of the unluckiest and yet luckiest authors who ever tried to sell a manuscript along Broadway. One of them is Edgar Allan Poe and the other is Walt Whitman. They shall have a chapter to themselves. But before turning to that chapter, we must look back to New England once more and observe the blossoming-time of its ancient commonwealths.
Humming-birds and bumble-bees in the blossoming-time make a dreamy booming among the shadowy sprays.
The front is open to the street, but the whole is so given up to weeds, such a tangle of rank vegetation, that few people penetrate it, and it is the great out-of-doors for the animal life of the neighborhood. Looking down upon it as I do, constantly spread out under my windows, I cannot choose but see everything that goes on. Last summer was the blossoming-time of the empty lot.
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