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SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 1772-1834.
Red as a rose is she. The Ancient Mariner. Part i.
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea. Part II.
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean. tlU.
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink. Jud.
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel. Part iii.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea. Part iv.
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware. laid.
O sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole. Part v.
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune. '*'d
Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And, having once turned round, walks on
And turns no more his head,
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread. Part vi.
So lonely 't was, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be. Part vii. He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
The Ancient Mariner. Part vii.
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things, both great and small. Ibid.
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn. Ibid.
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.
ClnUtabtl. Part i. A lady so richly clad as she, — Beautiful exceedingly. Ibid.
Carved with figures strange and sweet,
All made out of the carver's brain. Ibid.
Her gentle limbs did she undress,
And lay down in her loveliness. Ibid.
A sight to dream of, not to tell! Ibid.
That saints will aid if men will call:
For the blue sky bends over all! Conclusion to Part i.
Each matin bell, the Baron saith,
Knells us back to a world of death. Part ii.
Her face, oh! call it fair, not pale. Hid.
Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny, and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain. Ibid.
They stood aloof, the scars remaining, —
Christabel. Conclusion to Part ii.
Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place,
(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close,
And, hooting at the glorious sun in heaven,
Cries out, "Where is it?" Fears in Solitude.
And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin
Is pride that apes humility.1 The Devil's Thoughts.
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
And feed his sacred flame. Love.
Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless
billows. Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and
The Homeric Hexameter. Translated from Schiller.
In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column, In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.
The Ovidian elegiac Metre. From Schiller.
1 His favorite sin
Blest hour! it was a luxury — to be!
Reflection* on having left a Place of Retirement. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni.
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines. ibid.
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Ibid.
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost. ibid.
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. Ibid.
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive. The Three Graves
Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone. The Visit of the Gods. (Imitated from Schiller.)
The Knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust;
His soul is with the saints, I trust. The Knight's Tomb.
To know, to esteem, to love, — and then to part,
On taking leave of , 1817.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Down to a sunless sea. Kubla Khan.
Ancestral voices prophesying war. ibid.
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora. Ibid.
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise. Kubla Khan.
Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there. Epitaph on an Infant.
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.
Dejection. Stanza 1.
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud.
We in ourselves rejoice!
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.
A Christmas Carol, viii. Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? three treasures, — love, and light, And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath; And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, — Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. Reproof.
Nought cared this body for wind or weather
When youth and I lived in 't together. Youth and Age.
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
0 the Joys, that came down shower-like,
Ere I was old! Ibid.
I counted two-and-seventy stenches.
All well defined, and several stinks. Cologne.