Pain as Growth

Going to read Coleridge's poem on "The Pains of Sleep", I heartily laughed as I stated that there would be no relating to this poem, (as the deprivation of sleep at this point in life is real-haha) but within the first few lines, the relations to this poem were soberingly uncanny. But even as the poem explores intense pain, in the end, there is this resolution of thought in love- being beloved and loving, indeed truly loving. Though Wordsworth's poetry is an exhalation of sweet breath, I like Coleridge because his poetry is authentic; dealing with both the pleasant and the real.

I commented on Natalie's and Noah's.

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