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Lädt ... Coleridge's Ancient Mariner; Kubla Khan And Christabel (1914)von Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: CHRISTABEL PART THE FIRST Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awakened the crowing cock, Tu ? -vsrhit Tu ? whoo And hark, again the crowing cock, How drowsily it crew. 5 Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff, which From her kennel beneath the rock Maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; 10 Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud. Is0 the night chilly and dark ? The night is chilly, but not dark. 15 The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The0 moon is behind, and at the full; And yet she looks both small and dull. The night is chill, the cloud is gray: 20 'Tis a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way. The lovely lady, Christabel,0 Whom her father loves so well, What makes her in the wood so late, 15 A furlong from the castle gate ? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothed knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray For the weal of her lover that's far away. 30 She stole along, she nothing spoke, The sighs she heaved were soft and low, And naught was green upon the oak But moss and rarest mistletoe: She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, 35 And in silence prayeth she. The lady sprang up suddenly, The lovely lady, Christabel It moaned as near, as near can be, But what it is she cannot tell. 40 On the other side it seems to be, Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak ? There is not wind enough in the air 45 To move away the ringlet curl From the lovel... Keine Bibliotheksbeschreibungen gefunden. |
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And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn
This last week certainly left me sadder and wiser, eager to peer out Deleuze's window but resigned to the work and joy which keep me planted. Coleridge served as an exemplary anchor as I was tossed by the Fates. There is always concern, often some comfort. Too often, to be ethical, one is an asshole. I have often felt like the Rime's wedding-guest, you can't just outpace the implications. The big scheme of things holds two agents: fundamentalists and assholes. We remain in the latter camp.
Here's a happy Friday: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wx37fO25k-4 ( )