A poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Stop, Christian passer-by: Stop, child of God,
And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.
That he who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death:
Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame
He ask'd, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same.

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