LITMIR.BIZ

      The Sun came up upon the right,

        Out of the Sea came he;

      And broad as a weft upon the left

        Went down into the Sea.

      And the good south wind still blew behind,

        But no sweet Bird did follow

      Ne any day for food or play

        Came to the Marinere's hollo!

      And I had done an hellish thing

        And it would work 'em woe:

      For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird

        That made the Breeze to blow.

      Ne dim ne red, like God's own head,

        The glorious Sun uprist:

      Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird

        That brought the fog and mist.

      'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay

        That bring the fog and mist.

      The breezes blew, the white foam flew,

        The furrow follow'd free:

      We were the first that ever burst

        Into that silent Sea.

      Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,

        'Twas sad as sad could be

      And we did speak only to break

        The silence of the Sea.

      All in a hot and copper sky

        The bloody sun at noon,

      Right up above the mast did stand,

        No bigger than the moon.

      Day after day, day after day,

        We stuck, ne breath ne motion,

      As idle as a painted Ship

        Upon a painted Ocean.

      Water, water, every where

        And all the boards did shrink;

      Water, water, every where,

        Ne any drop to drink.

      The very deeps did rot: O Christ!

        That ever this should be!

      Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs

        Upon the slimy Sea.

      About, about, in reel and rout

        The Death-fires danc'd at night;

      The water, like a witch's oils,

        Burnt green and blue and white.

      And some in dreams assured were

        Of the Spirit that plagued us so:

      Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us

        From the Land of Mist and Snow.

      And every tongue thro' utter drouth

        Was wither'd at the root;

      We could not speak no more than if

        We had been choked with soot.

      Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks

        Had I from old and young;

      Instead of the Cross the Albatross

        About my neck was hung.

      I saw a something in the Sky

        No bigger than my fist;

      At first it seem'd a little speck

        And then it seem'd a mist:

      It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last

        A certain shape, I wist.

      A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!

        And still it ner'd and ner'd;

      And, an it dodg'd a water-sprite,

        It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.

      With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd

        Ne could we laugh, ne wail:

      Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood

      I bit my arm and suck'd the blood

        And cry'd, A sail! a sail!

      With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd

        Agape they hear'd me call:

      Gramercy! they for joy did grin

      And all at once their breath drew in

        As they were drinking all.

      She doth not tack from side to side —

        Hither to work us weal

      Withouten wind, withouten tide

        She steddies with upright keel.

      The western wave was all a flame,

        The day was well nigh done!

      Almost upon the western wave

        Rested the broad bright Sun;

      When that strange shape drove suddenly

        Betwixt us and the Sun.

      And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars

        (Heaven's mother send us grace)

      As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd

        With broad and burning face.

      Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)

        How fast she neres and neres!

      Are those her Sails that glance in the Sun

        Like restless gossameres?

      Are these her naked ribs, which fleck'd

        The sun that did behind them peer?

      And are these two all, all the crew,

        That woman and her fleshless Pheere?

      His bones were black with many a crack,

        All black and bare, I ween;

      Jet-black and bare, save where with rust

      Of mouldy damps and charnel crust

        They're patch'd with purple and green.

      Her lips are red, her looks are free,

        Her locks are yellow as gold:

      Her skin is as white as leprosy,

      And she is far liker Death than he;

        Her flesh makes the still air cold.

      The

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