Life and Existence

A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.

A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.

He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.

I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.

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

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was white as leprosy, The nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man’s blood with cold.

About, about, in reel and rout The death fires danced at night.

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.

And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald.

The Wedding Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon.

The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she.

He holds him with his glittering eye— The Wedding Guest stood still, And listens like a three years’ child: The Mariner hath his will.

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

It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. “By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?”

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.

Be but organic harps diversely fram’d, That tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.

Time will rust the sharpest sword, Time will consume the strongest cord; That which molders hemp and steel, Mortal arm and nerve must feel.

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

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking.

And come he slow, or come he fast, It is but Death who comes at last.

The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seem’d to have known a better day.