Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Anna and Harland
Within these wilds was Anna wont to rove
 While Harland told his love in many a sigh,
 But stern on Harland roll'd her brother's eye,
They fought, they fell—her brother and her love!
To Death's dark house did grief-worn Anna haste,
 Yet here her pensive ghost delights to stay;
 Oft pouring on the winds the broken lay—
And hark, I hear her—'twas the passing blast.
I love to sit upon her tomb's dark grass,
 Then Memory backward rolls Time's shadowy tide;
 The tales of other days before me glide:
With eager thought I seize them as they pass;
For fair, tho' faint, the forms of Memory gleam,
Like Heaven's bright beauteous bow reflected in the stream.