Here you will find the Poem Constancy To An Ideal Object of poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Since all, that beat about in Nature's range, Or veer or vanish ; why should'st thou remain The only constant in a world of change, O yearning THOUGHT ! that liv'st but in the brain ? Call to the HOURS, that in the distance play, The faery people of the future day-- -- Fond THOUGHT ! not one of all that shining swarm Will breathe on thee with life-enkindling breath, Till when, like strangers shelt'ring from a storm, Hope and Despair meet in the porch of Death ! Yet still thou haunt'st me ; and though well I see, She is not thou, and only thou art she, Still, still as though some dear embodied Good, Some living Love before my eyes there stood With answering look a ready ear to lend, I mourn to thee and say--`Ah ! loveliest Friend ! That this the meed of all my toils might be, To have a home, an English home, and thee !' Vain repetition ! Home and Thou are one. The peacefull'st cot, the moon shall shine upon, Lulled by the Thrush and wakened by the Lark, Without thee were but a becalméd Bark, Whose Helmsman on an Ocean waste and wide Sits mute and pale his mouldering helm beside. And art thou nothing ? Such thou art, as when The woodman winding westward up the glen At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze, Sees full before him, gliding without tread, An image with a glory round its head ; The enamoured rustic worships its fair hues, Nor knows he makes the shadow, he pursues !