Emotions and Feelings

O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware.

Alone, alone, all, all alone; Alone on a wide, wide sea.

I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. 1

Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye.

Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye.

We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My lifeblood seemed to sip.

We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My lifeblood seemed to sip.

“The game is done! I’ve won, I’ve won!” Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!

I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!

“God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— Why look’st thou so?”—“With my crossbow I shot the Albatross.”

The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound!

The guests are met, the feast is set: May’st hear the merry din.

O the one life within us and abroad, Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere— Methinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so filled.

Oh, poverty parts good company.

Where, where was Roderick then! One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men!

Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.

Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.

Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever!

And, Saxon—I am Roderick Dhu!

The will to do, the soul to dare.

To all, to each, a fair goodnight, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive!

O Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!