Poems by Sara Coleridge

In April comes the Nightingale,
That sings when day's departed;
The poets call her Philomel, ...

The Poppies Blooming all around
My Herbert loves to see,
Some pearly white, some dark as nigh...

Entwined amid fresh springing grass
Doth odorous thyme her sweets exhale;
Those spicy leaves t...

THE Thrush has been silent for many a long day,
But now he sings loudly, and what does he say?...