SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Fair tree! for thy delightful shade
’Tis just that some return be made;
Sure some return is due from me
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
O quam te memorem virgo...
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair —
Lean on a garden urn —
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee,
A startled stag, the blue-grey Night,
Leaps down beyond black pines.
Behind — a length of yellow light —
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
The sun goes down, and over all
These barren reaches by the tide
Such unelusive glories fall,
For weeks and weeks the autumn world stood still,
Clothed in the shadow of a smoky haze;
The fields were dead, the wind had lost its will,
On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
What is he buzzing in my ears?
“Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?”
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
