Samuel Taylor Coleridge

He holds him with his glittering eye--
. . . .
And listens like a three years' read more

He holds him with his glittering eye--
. . . .
And listens like a three years' child.

. . . So often do the spirits
Of great events stride on before the events,
And read more

. . . So often do the spirits
Of great events stride on before the events,
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.

Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks read more

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.

Ah! replied my gentle fair,
Beloved, what are names but air?
Choose thou, whatever suits the line:
read more

Ah! replied my gentle fair,
Beloved, what are names but air?
Choose thou, whatever suits the line:
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,
Call me Lalage, or Doris,
Only, only, call me thine.

That passage is what I call the sublime dashed to pieces by
cutting too close with the fiery four-in-hand read more

That passage is what I call the sublime dashed to pieces by
cutting too close with the fiery four-in-hand round the corner of
nonsense.