Dejection+an+Ode

= =  = = ="Dejection an Ode" =  This page was created to highlight some of the similarities and differences between a poem's original version, and its later edited and published version. Coleridge cut out significant portions of his original "Dejection: An Ode", most of these parts containing personal references and addresses to Sara Hutchinson. Each poem is presented here in its entirety. An analysis follows the two poems.

A subtle observation of the two poems shows, on the surface, not only a drastic change in length, but also cosmetic changes to the poem. Many words that were italicized in the original are normal in the published version; many words that were capitalized in the original are also normal in the final version, with a few exceptions. Some phrases and words are also changed, and these are shown in the original, either in brackets or side arrows, and the final product can be seen in Coleridge's abridged "Dejection: An Ode". (It must also be noted that there are indentations in the original, and they are different from the abridged version; however, the wiki software made it impossible to reproduce these indentations here.)

The famous version of Coleridge's poem "Dejection: An Ode" was written in 1802, an edit from the original, which was a much longer version originally entitled "A Letter to [Asra]".


 * **1802 Version, entitled "Dejection: An Ode"**

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, With the old Moon in her arms; And I fear, I fear, my Master dear! We shall have a deadly storm. Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.

I

Well! if the Bard was weather-wise, who made The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this Aeolian lute, Which better far were mute. For lo! the New-moon winter-bright! And overspread with phantom light, 10 (With swimming phantom light o'erspread But rimmed and circled by a silver thread) I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling The coming-on of rain and squally blast. And oh! that even now the gust were swelling, And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast! Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give, Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! 20

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, In word, or sigh, or tear -- O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood, To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd, All this long eve, so balmy and serene, Have I been gazing on the western sky, And its peculiar tint of yellow green: And still I gaze -- and with how blank an eye! 30 And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, That give away their motion to the stars; Those stars, that glide behind them or between, Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen: Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue; I see them all so excellently fair, I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail; And what can these avail 40 To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV

And in our life alone does Nature live: Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud! And would we aught behold, of higher worth, 50 Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud Enveloping the Earth -- And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

V

O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me What this strong music in the soul may be! 60 What, and wherein it doth exist, This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, This beautiful and beauty-making power. Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower, Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower A new Earth and new Heaven, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud -- 70 Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud -- We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light.

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough, This joy within me dallied with distress, And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness: For hope grew round me, like the twining vine, 80 And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine. But now afflictions bow me down to earth: Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth; But oh! each visitation Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, My shaping spirit of Imagination. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still and patient, all I can; And haply by abstruse research to steal From my own nature all the natural man -- 90 This was my sole resource, my only plan: Till that which suits a part infects the whole, And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, Reality's dark dream! I turn from you, and listen to the wind, Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream Of agony by torture lengthened out That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav'st without, Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree, 100 Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb, Or lonely house, long held the witches' home, Methinks were fitter instruments for thee, Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers, Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers, Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song, The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among. Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds! Thou mighty Poet, e'en to frenzy bold! What tell'st thou now about? 110 'Tis of the rushing of an host in rout, With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds -- At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold! But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence! And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd, With groans, and tremulous shudderings -- all is over -- It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud! A tale of less affright, And tempered with delight, As Otway's self had framed the tender lay, -- 120 'Tis of a little child Upon a lonesome wild, Not far from home, but she hath lost her way: And now moans low in bitter grief and fear, And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

VIII

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep: Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep! Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, 130 Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth! With light heart may she rise, Gay fancy, cheerful eyes, Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice; To her may all things live, from pole to pole, Their life the eddying of her living soul! O simple spirit, guided from above, Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice, Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice. ||  **Original version of the poem, entitled "A Letter to [Asra]".** April 4, 1802.--Sunday Evening.

Well! if the Bard was weatherwise, who made The grand old Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This Night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unrous'd by winds, that ply a busier trade Than that, which moulds yon clouds in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing Draft, that drones & rakes Upon the Strings of this Eolian Lute, Which better far were mute. For, lo! the New Moon, winter-bright! And [all-suffus'd] overspread with phantom Light, (With swimming phantom Light o'erspread But rimm'd & circled with a silver Thread) I see the Old Moon in her Lap, foretelling The coming-on of Rain & squally Blast-- O! Sara! that the Gust ev'n now were swelling, And the slant Night-shower driving loud & fast!

A Grief without a pang, void, dark, & drear, A stifling, drowsy, unimpassion'd Grief That finds no natural Outlet, no Relief In word, or sigh, or tear-- This, Sara! well thou know'st, Is that sore Evil, which I dread the most, And oft'nest suffer! In this heartless Mood, To other thoughts by yonder Throstle woo'd, That pipes within the Larch tree, not unseen, (The Larch, which pushes out in tassels green It's bundled Leafits) woo'd to mild Delights By all the tender Sounds & gentle Sights Of this sweet Primrose-mouth--& //vainly// woo'd [.] O dearest Sara! in this heartless Mood All this long Eve, so balmy & serene, Have I been gazing on the western Sky And it's peculiar Tint of Yellow Green-- And still I gaze--& with how blank an eye! And those thin Clouds above, in flakes & bars, That give away their Motion to the Stars; Those Stars, that glide behind them, or between, Now sparkling, now bedimm'd, but always seem; Yon crescent Moon, as fix'd as if it grew In it's own cloudless, starless Lake of Blue-- A boat becalm'd! dear William's Sky Canoe! --I see them all, so excellently fair! I see, not feel, how beautiful they are.

My genial Spirits fail-- And what can these avail To lift the smoth'ring Weight from off my Breast? It were a vain Endeavor, Tho' I should gaze for ever On that Green Light, which lingers in the West! I may not hope from outward Forms to win The Passion & the Life, whose Fountains are within! These Shap lifeless Shapes, around, below, Above, O what can they impart? When even the gentle Thought, that thou, my Love! Art gazing now, like me, And see'st the Heaven, I see-- Sweet though it is--yet feebly stirs my Heart!

Feebly! O feebly!--Yet (I well remember it) In my first Dawn of Youth that Fancy stole With many [gentle] secret Yearnings on my Soul. At eve, sky-gazing in "ecstatic fit" (Alas! for cloister'd in a city School The Sky was all, I knew, of Beautiful) At the barr'd window often did I sit, And oft upon the leaded School-roof lay, And to myself would say-- There does not live the Man so stripp'd of good affections As not to love to see a Maiden's quiet Eyes Uprais'd, and linking on sweet Dreams by dim Connections To Moon, or Evening Star, or glorious western Skies-- While yet a Boy, this Thought would so pursue me That often it became a kind of Vision to me!

Sweet Thought! and dear of old To Hearts of finer Mould! Ten thousand times by Friends & Lovers blest! I spake with rash Despair, And ere I was aware, The weight was somewhat lifted from my Breast! O Sara! in the weather-fended Wood, Thy lov'd haunt! where the Stock-doves coo at Noon, I guess, that thou hast stood And watch'd yon Crescent, & it's ghost-like Moon. And yet, far rather in my present Mood I would, that thou'dst been sitting all thise while Upon the sod-built Seat of Camomile-- And tho' thy Robin may have ceas'd to sing, Yet needs for //my// sake must thou love to hear The Bee-hive murmuring near, That ever-busy & most quiet Thing Which I have heard at Midnight murmuring.

I feel my spirit moved-- And wheresoe'er thou be, O Sister! O Beloved! Those dear wild Eyes, that see Even now the Heaven, //I// see-- There is a Prayer in them! It is for //me//-- And I, dear Sara--//I// am blessing //thee//!

It was as calm as this, that happy night When Mary, thou, & I together were, The low decaying Fire our only Light, And listen'd to the Stillness of the Air! O that affectionate & blameless Maid, Dear Mary! on her Lap my head she lay'd-- Her Hand was on my Brow, Even as my own is now; And on my Cheek I felt the eye-lash play. Such joy I had, that I may truly say, My spirit was awe-stricken with the Excess And trance-like Depth of it's brief Happiness.

Ah fair Remembrances, that so revive The Hear, & fill it with a living Power, Where were they, Sara?--or did I not strive To win them to me?--on the fretting Hour Then when I wrote thee that complaining Scroll, Which even to bodily Sickness bruis'd thy Soul! And yet thou blam'st thyself alone! And yet Forbidd'st me all Regret!

And must I not regret, that I distress'd Thee, best belov'd! who lovest me the best? My better mind has fled, I know not whither, For O! was this an Absent Friend's Employ To send from far both Pain & Sorrow thither Where still his Blessings should have call'd down Joy! I read thy guileless Letter o'er again-- I hear thee of thy blameless Self complain-- And only this I learn--& this, alas! I know-- That thou art weak & pale with Sickness, Grief & Pain-- And //I//--//I// made thee so!

O for my own sake I regret perforce Whatever turns thee, Sara! from the course Of calm Well-being & a Heart at rest! When thou, & with thee those, whom thou lov'st best, Shall dwell together in one happy Home, One House, the dear //abiding// Home of All, I too will crown me with a Coronal-- Nor shall this Heart in idle Wishes roam Morbidly soft! No! let me trust, that I shall wear away In no inglorious Toils the manly Day, And only now & then, & not too oft, Some dear & memorable Eve will bless Dreaming of all your Loves & Quietness.

Be happy, & I need thee not in sight. Peace in thy Heart, & Quiet in thy Dwelling, Health in thy Limbs, & in thine Eyes the Light of Love, & Hope, & honorable Feeling-- Where e'er I am, I shall be well content! Not near[ly] thee, haply shall be more content! To all things I prefer the Permenant. And better seems it for a Heart, like mine, Always to //know//, then sometimes to behold, //Their// Happiness & thine-- For Change doth trouble me with pants untold! To see thee, hear thee, feel thee--then to part! Oh!--it weighs down the Heart! To //visit// those, I love, as I love thee, Mary, & William, & dear Dorothy, It is but a temptation to repine-- The transientness is Poison in the Wine, Eats out the pith of Joy, makes all Joy hollow, All Pleasure a dim Dream of Pain to follow! My own peculiar Lot, my house-hold Life It is, & will remain, Indifference or Strife-- While //ye// are //well// & //happy//, twould but wrong you If I should fondly yearn to be among you-- Wherefore, O wherefore! should I wish to be A wither'd branch upon a blossoming Tree?

But (let me say it! for I vainly strive To beat away the Thought), but if thou pin'd, Whate'er the Cause, in body or in mind, I were the miserablest Man alive To know it & be absent! Thy Delights Far off, or near, alike I may partake-- But O! to mourn for thee, & to forsake All power, all hope of giving comfort to thee-- To know that thou art weak & worn with pain, And not to hear thee, Sara! not to view thee-- Not sit beside thy Bed Not press thy aching Head, Not bring thee Health again-- At least to hope, to try-- By this Voice, which thou lov'st, & by this earnest Eye--

Nay, wherefore did I let it haunt my [dr] Mind The dark distressful Dream! I turn from it, & listen to the Wind Which long has [howl'd] rav'd unnotic'd! What a Scream Of agony by Torture lengthen'd out That Lute sent forth! O thou wild Storm without! [Steep Crag] Jagg'd Rock, or mountain Pond, or Blasted Tree, Or Pine-Grove, Whither Woodman never clowb, Or lonely House, long held the Witches' Home, Methinks were fitter Instruments for Thee, Mad Lutanist! that in this month of Showers, Of dark brown Gardens, & of peeping Flowers, Mak'st Devil's Yule, with worse than wintry Song The Blossoms, Buds, and timorous Leaves among! Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic Sounds! Thou mighty Poet, even to frenzy bold! What tell'st thou now about? 'Tis of the Rushing of an Host in Rout-- And many Groands from men with smarting Wounds-- At once they groan with smart, and shudder with the Cold! Tis hush'd! there is a Trance of deepest Silence, Again! but all that Sound, [&] as of a rushing Crow'd And Groans & tremulous Shudderings, all are over-- And it has other Sounds, and all less deep, less loud! A Tale of less Affright, And temper'd with Delight, As William's Self had made the tender Lay 'Tis of a little Child Upon a healthy Wild, Not far from home--but it has lost it's way-- And now groans low in utter grief & fear-- And now screams loud, & hopes to make it's Mother hear!

'Tis Midnight! and small [Hopes] Thoughts have I of Sleep-- Full seldom may my Friend such Vigils keep-- O breathe She softly in her gentle Sleep! Cover her, gentle Sleep! with wings of Healing. And be this Tempest but a mountain Birth! May all the Stars hang bright about her Dwelling, Silent, as tho' they //watch'd// the sleeping Earth! Healthful & light, my Darling! may'st thou rise With clear & chearful Eyes-- And of the same good Tidings to me send! For, oh! beloved Friend! I am not the bouyant Thing, I was of yore--  For others mourning oft, myself oft sorely wrong'd, Yet bearing all things then, as if I nothing bore!

Yes, dearest Sara, yes! There //was// a time when tho' my path was rough, The Joy within me dallied with Distress; And all Misfortunes were but as the Stuff Whence Fancy made me Dreams of Happiness: For Hope grew round me, like the climbing Vine, And Leaves & Fruitage, not my own, seem'd mine! But now [Misfortunes] Ill Tidings bow me down to earth/ Nor care I, that they rob me of my Mirth/ But oh! each Visitation Suspends what Nature gave me at my Birth, My shaping Spirit of Imagination! I speak not now of those habitual Ills That wear out Life, when two unequal Minds Meet in one House, & two discordant Wills-- This leaves me, where it finds, Past cure, & past Complaint--a fate Austere Too fix'd & hopeless to partake of Fear!

But thou, dear Sara! (dear indeed thou art, My Comforter! A Heart withing my Heart!) Thou, & the Few, we love, tho' few ye be, Make up a world of Hopes & Fears for me. And [when] if Affliction, or distemp'ring Pain, Or wayward Chance befall you, I complain Not that I mourn--O Friends, most dear! most true! Methinks to weep with you Were better far than to rejoice alone-- But that my coarse domestic  has known [No mutual mild Enjoyments of it's own,] No habits of heart-nursing Sympathy, No Griefs but such as dull and deaden me,  No Hopes of its own Vintage, None, o! none-- Whence when I mourn'd for you, my Heart might borrow Fair forms & living Motions for it's Sorrow. For not to think of what I needs must feel, But to be still & patient all I can; [Or] And haply by abstruse Research to steal From my own Nature all the Natural Man-- This was my sole Resource, my wisest plan! And that, which suits a part, infects my whole, And now is almost grown the Temper of my Soul.

My little Children as a Joy, a Love, A good Gift from above! But what is Bliss, that still calls up a Woe, And makes it doubly keen Compelling me to //feel//, as well as KNOW, What a blessed Lot mine might have been. Those little Angel Children (woe is me!) There have been hours, when feeling how they bind And pluck out the wing-feathers of my Mind, Turning my Error to Necessity, I have half-wish'd, they never had been born! //That// seldom! But sad Thoughts they always bring, And like the Poet's Philomel, I sing My Love-sing, with my breast against a Thorn.

With no unthankful Spirit I confess, This clinging Grief too, in it's turn, awakes That Love, and Father's Joy; but O! it makes The Love the greater, & the Joy far less. These Mountains too, these Vales, these Woods, these Lakes, Scenes full of Beauty & of Loftiness Where all my Life I fondly hop'd to live-- I were sunk low indeed, did they //no// solace give; But oft I seem to feel, & evermore I fear, They are not to me now the Things, which once they were.

O Sara! we receive but what we give, And in //our// Life alone does Nature live. Our's is her wedding Garment, our's her Shroud-- And would we aught behold of higher Worth Than that inanimate cold World allow'd To the poor loveless ever-anxious Crowd, Ah! from the Soul itself must issue forth A Light, a Glory, and a luminous Cloud Enveloping the Earth! And from the Soul itself must there be sent A sweet & potent Voice, of it's own Birth, Of all sweet Sounds the Life & Element.

O pure of Heart! thou need'st not ask of me What this strong music in the Soul may be, > What, & wherein it doth exist,  This Light, this Glory, this fair luminous Mist, This beautiful & beauty-making Power! JOY, innocent Sara! Joy, that ne'er was given Save to the Pure, & in their purest Hour, JOY, Sara! is the Spirit & the Power, That wedding Nature to us gives in Dower A new Earth and a new Heaven Undreamt of by the Sensual & the Proud! Joy is that strong Voice, Joy that luminous Cloud-- We, we ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the Echoes of that Voice, All Colors a Suffusion of that Light.

Sister & Friend of my devoutest Choice! Thou being innocent & full of love, And nested with the Darlings of thy Love, And feeling in thy Soul, Heart, Lips, & Arms Even what the conjugal & mother Dove, That borrows genial Warmth from those, she warms, Feels in the thrill'd wings, blessedly outspread-- Thou free'd awhile from Care & human Dread By the Immenseness of the Good & Fair, Which thou seest every where-- Thus, thus, should'st thou rejoice!  O dear! O innocent! O full of Love! [A gentle] A very Friend!  Sister[s] of my Choice-- O dear, as Light & Impulse from above, Thus may'st thou ever, evermore rejoice! S.T.C. || 

Analysis of the Poems
In the later, shorter version of "Ode", the first section deals with a description of nature and the poet's physical surroundings. It details the wind, plying at the strings of the Eolian lute, but remarks that the music it creates is so dark and moaning, it was better that it was mute. Coleridge describes the moon, and the oncoming of rain and gusts of wind, and wishes these would play once again to revive him. Compared to the original, Coleridge has deleted the presence of "Sara" from the 15th line. He has also added the last four lines of the section. This addition allows his poem to start off establishing itself with a Romantic tone, implying the importance of nature and the wind to come work on him, and stir him and his imaginations as the wind does to the Eolian lute.

In the second section of Coleridge's later poem, more is deleted from the original version. The first four lines are the same in both poems, but the beginning of the 5th line in the later edition starts with "O Lady!" as compared to the original's "This, Sara!". The original continues with a personal addressing of Sara (Hutchinson), saying that Grief is "that sore Evil, which I [Coleridge] dread the most,/ And oft'nest suffer!". The later version takes out this personal address in favor of the impersonal and relative "Lady". From this point the poems merge again on the part of the line, "in this wan and heartless mood". After the next line, the two poems diverge again, with the original containing 5 lines that are edited out of the later model, because those lines again contained a personal air to Sara, wooing "tender Sounds & gentle Sights/ Of this sweet Primrose-month--& //vainly// woo'd[.]/O dearest Sara!". The rest of this section is the same, save for the third line in the original, which is taken out of the later version. The end of this section describes the narrator gazing at the stars, describing nature, emphasizing seeing how beautiful the stars are, a witness to nature's beauty and bounty. The extricated line "A boat becalm'd! dear William's Sky Canoe!" probably gives reference to Coleridge's friend, William Wordsworth, and describes the crescent moon from line 35 (of the later version) as a boat in the sea of the sky.

The third section of the later poem is a compact eight lines before the fourth section, while in the original there are many verse paragraphs between the lines that are found in the third and fourth sections. In the later version, Coleridge describes the need to look inward in order to take the "weight from off" his breast, and that outward forces are useless. This firmly embraces the Romantic ideal that power comes from inside, and a person needs to look intrinsically to find reality and peace.

The fourth section of the later version comes in the original much later after the third section of lines. In fact, in the edited version, section four starts on line 47, while in "A Letter to [Asra]", those lines do not appear until line 296. Again in the shortened version, the "O Sara!" address is changed to "O Lady!" The rest of this section is the same between both poems. Coleridge highlights the relation humans have to nature, being on in the same. He writes of the soul being sent out, with its voice, around the earth. This relates to more Romanticism, of the importance of the soul and individual creativity coming forth from a person.

The fifth section shows a few slight cosmetic changes between the two versions, along with the now expected alteration of the address of Sara to the general Lady. This section focuses on the faculty of joy, which is so enunciated in the original that it is written as "JOY". The later version has an added line, line 66. Joy is described as, through our marriage to Nature, giving us "a new Earth and new Heaven". This faculty is meant to be the gateway, or a light, from which flows melodies and charms. Basically, Joy creates a transcendent awareness or a connection to a more perfect reality (from class notes 10/5/07).

The sixth section of the edited poem is found in the middle of its original, after a verse paragraph containing lines that are found in the eighth section of the shorter. Starting on line 231 of the longer, the first line in the original addresses Sara; naturally it is omitted in the later version. This section discusses the poet's spirit of Imagination, and how this is given by nature, most perfect at birth, and that each affliction brings him away from his imagination towards the mundane. What was once a small habit has now grown to a consuming obsession for the poet to change his nature to a natural state of man, one that in sync with nature and would therefore transcendent reality, going along with Romanticism. This analysis comes from lines 85-94 of the edited version; the original's final lines of this section are completely different. The edit seems much better than the original, which leaves the reader with a sense of despair that the narrator will ever find peace for his discordant soul. It was also interesting to note that the original showed Coleridge struggling to find the right word for the final line 82. The original shows he substituted "Ill Tidings" for Misfortunes, but ultimately chooses "afflictions" as his word of choice.

The seventh section found in the edited poem finds its lines in the original before the lines contained in the sixth and eighth sections. The two are mostly the same, with some words changed, and a few more cosmetic changes, including indentation and capitalization variations. In the edited version, Coleridge writes about noticing nature, specifically the wind. He describes the wind madly playing the strings of the Eolian lute, which screams in agony, while saying that it should be playing on a more natural, bare scenes to bring forth that noise--untouched mountains and lonely houses. Even in the torturous sounds that the wind produces, Coleridge describes them all as perfect, and calls the wind a poet. He asks the wind what tale it is telling with its sounds, and it responds first with a scene of madness, a mob groaning "with pain, and shudder[ing] with the cold! (113)". The wind then tells another story, one that is softer and lighter--of a child, alone, wandering a little ways from home, but is lost. The wind relates the girl's "grief and fear (124)", and tells how she calls loudly so that her mother can find her. Coleridge is using the wind, and nature, to tell a story, showing the creativity of the natural world in relating alternate realities, shifting from one scene to the next.

The eighth and final section of Coleridge's "Dejection: An Ode" is made up of two separate verse paragraphs from the original. The first part comes from lines following the lines that the seventh section came from. The last two lines of the edit come from the first and last line of the last verse paragraph of the original. Lines 134-137 seem to have been re-created for the edited version. In this section, in the edited version, the poet references a "she" and "her". Based on the original, we know that he is referring to Sara Hutchinson. He talks of her sleeping, with the stars watching over her. In the edited version, Coleridge again calls on the faculty of joy to lift her spirit. The poet wants all things to move and live within her, likening her to the Eolian lute, which is played and influenced by the wind. Coleridge ends his poem still alluding to joy, calling on Sara to "rejoice", being the friend he chooses to be most devout to.

Coleridge is constantly evoking nature in his poems, and personifies emotions. As a Romantic, he believes that in order to find the real reality, one must transcend the mundane, and one can do this through imagination. Coleridge embraces and presents his emotions in his poetry. The original version of this poem is much longer than the first, and the verse paragraphs that were not included in the final version are directed at Sara Hutchinson, and describing her and their relationship. Both poems are enjoyable in their own rights, and it is interesting to see them compared and contrasted, seeing what Coleridge chose to include and exclude, and how he combined lines to end up with his final "Dejection: An Ode". <span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;">These photos show examples of Coleridge's writing of "<span class="wiki_link_new" style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">A Letter to [Asra]" <span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">.

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References **<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif;"> 1802 version of the poem came from http://www.english.upenn.edu/Projects/knarf/Coleridg/deject.html Coleridge Image. http://wings.buffalo.edu/AandL/english/programs/coleridge5.jpg. Facsimiles of Coleridge's Letters. Whalley, George.//Coleridge and Sara Hutchinson and the Asra Poems//. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd, 1955. Pages 155-164.

<span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,sans-serif;">by Alexi Capsouras
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