Stretched on a mouldered Abbey's broadest wall,
Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep--
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall,
Had Melancholy mused herself to sleep.
The fern was pressed beneath her hair,
The dark green adder's tongue was there;
And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak,
The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek.
That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look
Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought,
Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,
And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought.
Strange was the dream-----
More verses by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- The Raven. Christmas Tale, Told By A School-Boy To His Little Brothers And Sisters
- Thicker Than Rain-Drops On November Thorn (Fragment)
- The Three Graves. A Fragment Of A Sexton's Tale
- Composed At Clevedon, Somersetshire
- Sonnet X. To Erskine