More from Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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

All Samuel Taylor Coleridge quotes