Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) was an English poet, critic, and philosopher who was, along with his friend William Wordsworth, one of the founders of the Romantic Movement in England and one of the Lake Poets. He is probably best known for his poems The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan, as well as his major prose work Biographia Literaria.
This poem was penned in 1802, Since 1799 itself, Coleridge had started sensing the weakening of his poetic abilities. This feeling was further strengthened as he perceived Wordsworth accomplishing great elevations of reputation and brilliance.
To begin with, Coleridge had married hastily. The marriage had been motivated not by their mutual love but at by Coleridge's inappropriate eagerness. The situation was further intensified by Coleridge's craving for Sara Hutchinson, the sister of Mary Hutchinson, who would later go on to marry William Wordsworth. Coleridge had met her in 1799, and had fallen dreadfully enamoured with her.
What drove Coleridge into a mood of severe gloominess accompanied by his internal tumult and his desperate thirst for Sara was his failing health.
Apart from the spasms in the stomach, he suffered from dizziness and rheumatic discomforts. He had taken resort to opium, which progressively became a convention with him.
This awfully unhappy poem is thus the throbbing scream of one who feels he has lost his compelling voice before he could create all the symphonies he was adept of creating.
The poem was written in a state of great mental nuisance caused by marital trouble, pathetic health, abandonment by friends, financial strain and unfulfillment in love.
Nature might be an amplifier of happy emotions, but humans truly feel happy only ehen psychologically, from within, they're happy first. Moving wonders of nature although are happy sights, they would trivial and meaningless who can't find joy in their hearts. A worse condition than being sad, is having no feeling at all. That's what Coleridge's feeling dejected about, his inability to feel, his loosing poetic talent and inspiration, his opium addiction, his unattainable lover.
Beautiful poem.
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul [to remain stoic]