The Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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G. Routledge and sons, 1873 - 420 頁
 

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第 10 頁 - Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning!
第 13 頁 - 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.
第 129 頁 - ... silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee, and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial black, An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it As with a wedge. But when I look again It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 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.
第 3 頁 - Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!
第 4 頁 - Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.
第 158 頁 - My genial spirits fail; And what can these avail To lift the smothering weight from off my breast? It were a vain endeavour, Though I should gaze for ever On that green light that lingers in the west: I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.
第 10 頁 - 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.
第 10 頁 - They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze...
第 11 頁 - Is this the man? By Him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The Spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.
第 8 頁 - In his loneliness and fixedness he yearneth towards the journeying Moon, and the stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; and every where the blue sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly expected and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.

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