Saturday, February 21, 2009

Late Night Coleridge

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.

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

Part II v. 123-130 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

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