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Hartley Coleridge

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On this hapless earth
There ’s small sincerity of mirth,
And laughter oft is but an art
To drown the outcry of the heart.
--
"Address to certain Gold-fishes".

 
Hartley Coleridge

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The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,
One is nearer God's Heart in a garden
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Gather your strength and listen; the whole heart of man is a single outcry. Lean against your breast to hear it; someone is struggling and shouting within you.
It is your duty every moment, day and night, in joy or in sorrow, amid all daily necessities, to discern this Cry with vehemence or restraint, according to your nature, with laughter or with weeping, in action or in thought, striving to find out who is imperiled and cries out.
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The common growth of Mother Earth
Suffices me,—her tears, her mirth,
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Ten thousand times a million sons of sons move
Through one great and towering town
Wearing their wits, which means their laughter,
As their crown. Set free upon the earth
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And pull the blood spikes out;
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And here I am walking the eternal earth.
Tiny, leaning on a stick.
I pass a volcanic park, lie down at a spring,
Not knowing how to express what is always and everywhere:
The earth I cling to is so solid
Under my breast and belly that I feel grateful
For every pebble, and I don't know whether
It is my pulse or the earth's that I hear,
When the hems of invisible silk vestments pass over me,
Hands, wherever they have been, touch my arm,
Or small laughter, once, long ago over wine,
With lanterns in the magnolias, for my house is huge.

 
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