All Nature seems at work – slugs leave their lair,
The bees are stirring, birds are on the wing,
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring!
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, oh ye amaranths, bloom for whom ye may –
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll!
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And hope without an object cannot live.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1772-1834 – “Work Without Hope” from Complete Poems
Tim Miller 
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