Poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward; it has

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, poet of dreams and visions, once confessed: “Poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward; it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.” In these words, Coleridge reveals the essence of poetry—not as a tool for fame or fortune, but as a discipline of the soul, a way of seeing the world anew. To him, poetry was not merely art, but a training of the spirit, teaching him to look past the surface of life and to seek its hidden splendor.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Coleridge’s own struggles. He lived a life marked by storms of health, poverty, and dependence, and yet, through the practice of poetry, he learned to keep his eyes open to wonder. Where others saw only hardship, he trained himself to notice the beautiful. Where others despaired, he sought the good. For him, poetry was not escape, but transformation—it turned the world into a place of discovery, where meaning and loveliness could be found even in the most ordinary things.

The ancients would have understood this well. For the Greeks, poetry was not only song but philosophy in rhythm, a way of revealing the divine woven into nature. The Psalms of the Hebrew tradition, too, are filled with this same spirit—seeing the good and beautiful even in valleys of shadow. Coleridge places himself within this lineage, showing that the practice of poetry is not merely an art form, but a way of life: it disciplines the mind to search for beauty in every corner of existence.

History gives us further examples. Consider Anne Frank, who, though imprisoned in hiding during the horrors of war, still wrote in her diary of the beauty of the sky, the kindness of small acts, the hope that lived despite darkness. Though she was not writing in verse, her words embody the same habit Coleridge described: to train the soul to notice the good and the beautiful when despair threatens to swallow everything. Such writing is poetry in its truest sense—not bound to form, but to vision.

Coleridge’s insight is heroic, for it tells us that beauty is not always given freely—it must be sought. The habit of discovery is not natural to all; many drift through life blind to the marvels around them. But poetry awakens the eye, sharpens the ear, and softens the heart, so that one no longer passes indifferently by a sunrise, a kind word, or a fleeting thought. Instead, one learns to treasure them, to gather them like pearls, to let them form the crown of daily life.

The lesson for us is luminous: cultivate poetry—not only in words, but in vision. Let your mind be trained, like Coleridge’s, to search for what is noble and fair. In your conversations, listen for beauty. In your surroundings, notice the details that others miss. In hardship, ask where goodness still flickers. This is not naivety—it is strength. For the one who sees beauty everywhere carries within them a fortress against despair.

Practical action is simple yet profound. Read poems slowly, until they reshape the way you look at the world. Keep a journal where you record each day one thing good and one thing beautiful that you have discovered. Speak words that lift the hearts of others. And when you write—whether poetry, prose, or mere notes—do it with the desire to reveal beauty, not only to others, but to yourself.

Thus Coleridge’s words resound across time: “Poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward; it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.” This is not only the testimony of a poet, but the invitation of a sage: to live poetically, to see with new eyes, and to find in every breath the reward of beauty.