Frere), the second
on the receipt of your 'Letter to Charles Butler,'" &c.

In a subsequent letter, without date, Coleridge thus again reverts to the
circumstance of its having been published without his or White's sanction:

"But first of your sonnet. On reading the sentences in your letter
respecting it, I stood staring vacantly on the paper, in a state of
feeling not unlike that which I have too often experienced in a dream:
when I have found myself in chains, or in rags, shunned, or passed by,
with looks of horror blended with sadness, by friends and acquaintance;
and convinced that, in some alienation of mind, I must have perpetrated
some crime, which I strove in vain to recollect. I then ran down to
Mrs. Gillman, to learn whether she or Mr. Gillman could throw any light
on the subject. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Gillman could account for it. I
have repeated the sonnet often, but, to the best of my recollection,
never either gave a copy to any one, or permitted any one to transcribe
it; and as to publishing it without your consent, you must allow me to
say the truth: I had felt myself so much flattered by your having
addressed it to me, that I should have been half afraid that it would
appear to be asking to have my vanity tickled, if I had thought of
applying to you for permission to publish it. Where and when did it
appear? If you will be so good as to inform me, I may perhaps trace it
out: for it annoys me to imagine myself capable of such a breach of
confidence and of delicacy."

In his Journal, October 16 [1838?], Blanco White says:

"In copying out my 'Sonnet on Night and Death' for a friend, I have
made some corrections. It is now as follows:

'Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
This glorious canopy of light and blue?
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the Host of Heaven came,
And lo! creation widen'd in man's view.
Who could have thought such darkness lay conceal'd
Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find,
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood reveal'd,
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind!
Why do we then shun death, with anxious strife?
If li