Quote #1
Poor little foal of an oppressed race! I love the languid patience of thy face.
More from Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- Blest hour! it was a luxury - to be!
- With what deep worship I have still adored The spirit of divinest Liberty.
- The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind.
- Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet moon.
- Forth from his dark and lonely hiding place (Portentous-sight!) the owlet Atheism, Sailing an obscene wings athwart the noon, Drops his blu…
- And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin Is pride that apes humility.
- Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean.
- In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column; In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.