# Poems on Various Subjects (Coleridge)/Effusion 36

Lines on an Autumnal Evening was composed by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1793. The poem, rewritten throughout Coleridge's life, discusses nature and love. As Coleridge developed and aged, the object of the poem changed to be various women that Coleridge had feelings toward. Warning: template has been deprecated. First published as "Absence" in the Weekly Entertainer, 28th October 1793.
EFFUSION XXXVI.
WRITTEN
IN EARLY YOUTH,
THE TIME,
AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
O Thou wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore! Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight Bath'd in rich amber-glowing floods of light; Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, With western peasants hail the morning ray! Ah! rather bid the perish'd pleasures move, A shadowy train, across the soul of Love!
O'er Disappointment's wintry desart fling Each flower, that wreath'd the dewy locks of Spring, When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim bower She leapt, awaken'd by the pattering shower.
Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam, Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet's dream! With faery wand O bid the Maid arise, Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes; As erst when from the Muses' calm abode I came, with Learning's meed not unbestow'd: When, as she twin'd a laurel round my brow, And met my kiss, and half returned my vow, O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart, And every nerve confess'd the electric dart.
O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise, Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue Eyes, When first the lark high-soaring swells his throat, Mocks the tir'd eye, and scatters the loud note, I trace her footsteps on the accustom'd lawn, I mark her glancing mid the gleams of dawn. When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps, Amid the paly radiance soft and sad She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad. With her along the streamlet's brink I rove; With her I lift the warblings of the grove; And seems in each low wind her voice to float Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! Obey The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clust'ring pinions ye are there, Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle trees, Or with fond languishment around my fair Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair; O heed the spell, and hither wing your way, Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze! Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given Form'd by the wond'rous Alchemy of Heaven! No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire know, No fairer Maid e'er heav'd the bosom's snow. A thousand Loves around her forehead fly; A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye; Love lights her smile—in Joy's bright nectar dips The flamy rose, and plants it on her lips! Tender, serene, and all devoid of guile, Soft is her foul, as sleeping infants' smile:
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song— Still, Fancy! still those mazy notes prolong. Sweet as th' angelic harps, whose rapturous falls Awake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's Halls!
O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod, Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God! A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem To shield my Love from Noontide's sultry beam: Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose od'rous boughs My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows. When Twilight stole across the fading vale. To fan my Love I'd be the Evening Gale; Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest, And flutter my faint pinions on her breast! On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream, by night, To soothe my Love with shadows of delight:—
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies, And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes!
As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame, Awakes amid the troubles of the air, The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare— Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, And sad recalls the funny hour of sleep:— So tost by storms along Life's wild'ring way Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day, When by my native brook I wont to rove While Hope with kisses nurs'd the Infant Love.
Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly Smoothing thro' fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy Star'd wildly-eager in her noontide dream, Where Blameless Pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek, As water-lilies ripple a slow stream! Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay: Where Friendship's fix'd-star sheds a mellow'd ray; Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears: Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears; And Mem'ry, with a Vestal's chaste employ, Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of Joy! No more your sky-larks melting from the sight Shall thrill th' attuned heart-string with delight:— No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat. Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between!
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song, That soars on Morning's wing your vales among.
Scenes of my Hope! the aking eye ye leave Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve! Tearful and sad'ning with the sadden'd blaze Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze: Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.