* * * * *

_COLERIDGE AS A PLAGIARIST._

SOMETHING CHILDISH BUT VERY NATURAL.

WRITTEN IN GERMANY 1798-99.


If I had but two little wings,
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids,
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet, while tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.

Thus much for Coleridge. Now for his original: