The Flower of the Mind

This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree.

O sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.

‘The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. ‘Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner’s tr...

There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye— When looking westward, I beheld A something in th...

‘With sloping masts and dipping prow As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast...

I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my...

And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work ’em woe: For all averred I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made...