The Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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D. Appleton, 1857 - 388 psl.
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108 psl. - twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song That makes the heavens be mute. " It ceased"; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
116 psl. - I pass, like night, from land to land ; I have strange power of speech ; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me : • To him my tale I teach.
144 psl. - In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.
199 psl. - Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! She loves me best, whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve.
254 psl. - Thy habitation from eternity. 0 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought ! Entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, — So sweet we know not we are listening to it...
254 psl. - O, struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink...
112 psl. - The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.
94 psl. - He holds him with his glittering eye — The wedding-guest stood still, And listens like a three-years' child : The Mariner hath his will. The wedding-guest sat on a stone : He cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner : ' The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon ' — The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard...
115 psl. - Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. "Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row." And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!" The Hermit crossed his brow. "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say— What manner of man art thou?
284 psl. - To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah ! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud, Enveloping the Earth — And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element...

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