Welcome to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios. I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Monday, October 14th, 2024.

Today's poem is by one of the lake poets, romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and it's called Sonnet on receiving a letter informing me of the birth of a son,

most likely written upon the occasion of his eldest son Hartley's birth in 1796.

I'll read it once, offer a few comments, and then read it one more time.

Sonnet on receiving a letter informing me of the birth of a son.

When they did greet me father, sudden awe weighed down my spirit.

I retired and knelt, seeking the throne of grace, but inly felt no heavenly visitation

upwards draw my feeble mind, nor cheering Ray impart. Ah, me, before the eternal sire, I brought the

unquiet silence of confused thought, and shapeless feelings, my o'erwhelmed heart, trembled,

and vacant tears streamed down my face. And now, once more, O Lord, to thee I bend, lover of souls, and grown for future

grace, that, ere my babe youth's perilous maze have trod, thy overshadowing spirit may descend,

and he be born again, a child of God. My own eldest son, Samuel, just celebrated his 11th birthday over the weekend,

and I have been searching for poems that might make a fitting tribute.

So you may even notice that the theme of sons and fatherhood is running through some of the recent poems and

one or two future poems as well. And that's really because I just couldn't make up my mind.

I think that Friday's poem by Ben Johnson captures some of the gravity of having a son, although it seems too tragic and melancholy to be worthy of a birthday tribute.

Today's poem, too, makes the state of fatherhood and the life of children seem somehow precarious, but maybe together

they equal the correct sentiment. I certainly know how Coleridge feels. The discovery that one is a father,

whether it be in a letter, we're not sure exactly where

Coleridge was or why he wasn't present for the birth. But I'm going to go ahead and assert

that the sensation really isn't much different if you are in the room when your first son

enters the world. Nor does the full weight of that

...