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Poetry from the Limit

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  Kubla Khan
  by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  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.
  So twice five miles of fertile ground
  With walls and towers were girdled round:
  And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
  Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
  And here were forests ancient as the hills,
  Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

  But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
  Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
  A savage place! as holy and enchanted
  As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
  By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
  And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
  As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
  A mighty fountain momently was forced:
  Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
  Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
  Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
  And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
  It flung up momently the sacred river.
  Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
  Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
  Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
  And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
  And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
  Ancestral voices prophesying war!
      The shadow of the dome of pleasure
      Floated midway on the waves;
      Where was heard the mingled measure
      From the fountain and the caves.
  It was a miracle of rare device,
  A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
      A damsel with a dulcimer
      In a vision once I saw:
      It was an Abyssinian maid,
      And on her dulcimer she played,
      Singing of Mount Abora.
      Could I revive within me
      Her symphony and song,
      To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
      That with music loud and long,
      I would build that dome in air,
      That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
      And all who heard should see them there,
      And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
      His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
      Weave a circle round him thrice,
      And close your eyes with holy dread,
      For he on honey-dew hath fed,
      And drunk the milk of Paradise.

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  The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
  by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.

PART I

 
    An ancient Mariner meeteth three Gallants bidden to a wedding-feast, and detaineth one.

    It is an ancient Mariner,
    And he stoppeth one of three.
    'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
    Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

    The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
    And I am next of kin;
    The guests are met, the feast is set:
    May'st hear the merry din.'

    He holds him with his skinny hand,
  'There was a ship,' quoth he.
  'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
  Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

 
    The Wedding-Guest is spellbound by the eye of the old seafaring man, and constrained to hear his tale.

  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

 
    The Mariner tells how the ship sailed southward with a good wind and fair weather, till it reached the line.

  Below the kirk, below the hill,
  Below the lighthouse top.

  The Sun came up upon the left,
  Out of the sea came he!
  And he shone bright, and on the right
  Went down into the sea.

  Higher and higher every day,
  Till over the mast at noon--'
  The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
  For he heard the loud bassoon.

 
    The Wedding-Guest heareth the bridal music; but the Mariner continueth his tale.

  The bride hath paced into the hall,
  Red as a rose is she;
  Nodding their heads before her goes
  The merry minstrelsy.

  The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
  Yet he cannot choose but hear;
  And thus spake on that ancient man,
  The bright-eyed Mariner.

 
    The ship driven by a storm toward the south pole.

  And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
  Was tyrannous and strong:
  He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
  And chased us south along.

  With sloping masts and dipping prow,
  As who pursued with yell and blow
  Still treads the shadow of his foe,
  And forward bends his head,
  The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
  And southward aye we fled.

  And now there came both mist and snow,
  And it grew wondrous cold:
  And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
  As green as emerald.

 
    The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no living thing was to be seen.

  And through the drifts the snowy clifts
  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!

 
    Till a great sea-bird, called the Albatross, came through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy and hospitality.

  At length did cross an Albatross,
  Thorough the fog it came;
  As if it had been a Christian soul,
  We hailed it in God's name.

  It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
  And round and round it flew.
  The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
  The helmsman steered us through!

 
    And lo! the Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice.

  And a good south wind sprung up behind;
  The Albatross did follow,
  And every day, for food or play,
  Came to the mariner's hollo!

  In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
  It perched for vespers nine;
  Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
  Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'

 
    The ancient Mariner inhospitably killeth the pious bird of good omen.

  'God save thee, ancient Mariner!
  From the fiends, that plague thee thus!--
  Why look'st thou so?'--With my cross-bow
  I shot the ALBATROSS.

 

PART II

  The Sun now rose upon the right:
  Out of the sea came he,
  Still hid in mist, and on the left
  Went down into the sea.

  And the good south wind still blew behind,
  But no sweet bird did follow,
  Nor any day for food or play
  Came to the mariner's hollo!

 
    His shipmates cry out against the ancient Mariner, for killing the bird of good luck.

  And I had done a hellish thing,
  And it would work 'em woe:
  For all averred, I had killed the bird
  That made the breeze to blow.
  Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
  That made the breeze to blow!

 
    But when the fog cleared off, they justify the same, and thus make themselves accomplices in the crime.

  Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
  The glorious Sun uprist:
  Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

 
    The fair breeze continues; the ship enters the Pacific Ocean, and sails northward, even till it reaches the Line.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

 
    The ship hath been suddenly becalmed.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

 
    And the Albatross begins to be avenged.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
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.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.

 
    A Spirit had followed them; one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.

And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

 
    And the ancient Mariner beholdeth his native country.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?

We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray--
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.

The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.

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,

 
    The angelic spirits leave the dead bodies,

Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.

 
    And appear in their own forms of light.

A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck--
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.

This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;

This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart--
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away
And I saw a boat appear.

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.

I saw a third--I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
The Albatross's blood.

 

PART VII

 
    The Hermit of the wood,

This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.

He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve--
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.

The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
'Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?'

 
    Approacheth the ship with wonder.

'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said--
'And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were

Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf's young.'

'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look--
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-feared'--'Push on, push on!'
Said the Hermit cheerily.

The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.

 
    The ship suddenly sinketh.

Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bay;
The ship went down like lead.

 
    The ancient Mariner is saved in the Pilot's boat.

Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot's boat.

Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.

I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.

I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
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.

 
    The ancient Mariner earnestly entreateth the Hermit to shrieve him; and the penance of life falls on him.

'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?'

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.

 
    And ever and anon through out his future life an agony constraineth him to travel from land to land;

Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

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.

What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!

O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!--

To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends
And youths and maidens gay!

 
    And to teach, by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.

He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.

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  Jabberwocky
  by LewisCarroll

 
  'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
  All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

  "Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
  Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
  The frumious Bandersnatch"

  He took his vorpal sword in hand:
  Long time the manxome foe he sought--
  So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
  And stood awhile in thought.

  And, as in uffish thought he stood,
  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
  Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
  And burbled as it came!

  One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
  He left it dead, and with its head
  He went galumphing back.

  "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
  O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!"
  He chortled in his joy.

  'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
  All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

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  The Walrus and the Carpenter
  by LewisCarroll

 

 

            `The sun was shining on the sea,
              Shining with all his might:
            He did his very best to make
              The billows smooth and bright --
            And this was odd, because it was
              The middle of the night.
 
            The moon was shining sulkily,
              Because she thought the sun
            Had got no business to be there
              After the day was done --
            "It's very rude of him," she said,
              "To come and spoil the fun!"
 
            The sea was wet as wet could be,
              The sands were dry as dry.
            You could not see a cloud, because
              No cloud was in the sky:
            No birds were flying over head --
              There were no birds to fly.
 
            The Walrus and the Carpenter
              Were walking close at hand;
            They wept like anything to see
              Such quantities of sand:
            "If this were only cleared away,"
              They said, "it WOULD be grand!"
 
            "If seven maids with seven mops
              Swept it for half a year,
            Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
              "That they could get it clear?"
            "I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
              And shed a bitter tear.
 
            "O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
              The Walrus did beseech.
            "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
              Along the briny beach:
            We cannot do with more than four,
              To give a hand to each."
 
            The eldest Oyster looked at him.
              But never a word he said:
            The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
              And shook his heavy head --
            Meaning to say he did not choose
              To leave the oyster-bed.
 
            But four young oysters hurried up,
              All eager for the treat:
            Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
              Their shoes were clean and neat --
            And this was odd, because, you know,
              They hadn't any feet.
 
            Four other Oysters followed them,
              And yet another four;
            And thick and fast they came at last,
              And more, and more, and more --
            All hopping through the frothy waves,
              And scrambling to the shore.
 
            The Walrus and the Carpenter
              Walked on a mile or so,
            And then they rested on a rock
              Conveniently low:
            And all the little Oysters stood
              And waited in a row.
 
            "The time has come," the Walrus said,
              "To talk of many things:
            Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing-wax --
              Of cabbages -- and kings --
            And why the sea is boiling hot --
              And whether pigs have wings."
 
            "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
              "Before we have our chat;
            For some of us are out of breath,
              And all of us are fat!"
            "No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
              They thanked him much for that.
 
            "A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
              "Is what we chiefly need:
            Pepper and vinegar besides
              Are very good indeed --
            Now if you're ready Oysters dear,
              We can begin to feed."
 
            "But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
              Turning a little blue,
            "After such kindness, that would be
              A dismal thing to do!"
            "The night is fine," the Walrus said
              "Do you admire the view?
 
            "It was so kind of you to come!
              And you are very nice!"
            The Carpenter said nothing but
              "Cut us another slice:
            I wish you were not quite so deaf --
              I've had to ask you twice!"
 
            "It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
              "To play them such a trick,
            After we've brought them out so far,
              And made them trot so quick!"
            The Carpenter said nothing but
              "The butter's spread too thick!"
 
            "I weep for you," the Walrus said.
              "I deeply sympathize."
            With sobs and tears he sorted out
              Those of the largest size.
            Holding his pocket handkerchief
              Before his streaming eyes.
 
            "O Oysters," said the Carpenter.
              "You've had a pleasant run!
            Shall we be trotting home again?"
              But answer came there none --
            And that was scarcely odd, because
              They'd eaten every one.'

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