Home-Sick. Written In Germany

Poem By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

'Tis sweet to him, who all the week
Through city-crowds must push his way,
To stroll alone through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.

And sweet it is, in summer bower,
Sincere, affectionate and gay,
One's own dear children feasting round,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.

But what is all, to his delight,
Who having long been dommed to roam,
Throws off the bundle from his back,
Before the door of his own home?

Home-sickness is a wasting pang;
This feel I hourly more and more:
There's healing only in thy wings,
Thou Breeze that play'st on Albion's shore!

Comments about Home-Sick. Written In Germany

Home-sickness is a wasting pang; This feel I hourly more and more: That's funny!
He is very home-sick indeed but it is a good thing because we concentrate on the good aspects and forgive what isn't good.


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