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Frost at Midnight

  • Date Submitted: 05/09/2011 06:34 AM
  • Flesch-Kincaid Score: 71.1 
  • Words: 774
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Frost at Midnight was written in 1798, by Samuel taylor colridge, while he was sitting in his cottage ‘’nether stowey’’. The poem was first published in ‘’France: an ode and fears in solitude’’. The 1798 edition contained six concluding lines, which were not present in the earlier editions. Part of the conversation poems, the poem discusses Coleridge's childhood experience in a negative manner and emphasizes the need to be raised in the countryside. He was one of the romantic poets of the first generation, along with wordsworth. Wordsworth and him wrote a collection called ‘lyrical ballads’ together. It was Wordsworth who provided Coleridge with a detailed description of the Lake District which served as a basis for Coleridge's description of the place. The poem is a lyric written in blank verse, the tone being informal, but the content itself is very serious.
The poem begins in a reflective mood. It is a chilly, frosty night and the poet is the only person awake in the cottage. His son is asleep near him in a cradle. The poet is aware of the silence and solitude around him. The stillness is so strong that it puzzles contemplation. The frost is going about it’s work quietly. The calmness is prevailing even in the sea, hill, the woods and a populous village. Also, in the hearth of the fireplace, there is a thin blue flame, which is not trembling. But the poet watches the soot on the grate, which is the only thing around showing movement. The poet feels as though there is some kind of bond between him and the soot, which automatically reminds him of the past. He thinks of the days when he went to school. In those days there was a superstation he held that whenever he saw a film flutter, someone was bound to visit him. He would then dream   about his birthplace and the church tower whose bells rang so sweetly on Fair-day. These things lured him to sleep in his childhood, and he brooded on them at school, only pretending to look at his books—unless, of course, the door...

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