Dead poets. 11/30/2006
I first read this poem some 20 something years ago. I enjoyed it immensely. Perhaps the reason was because I was also busy devouring the works of Robert E. Howard at the time, and the imagery evoked by this poem fitted in well with the mental picture in my head. And yes, I do know there is a very cheesy and camp movie by the same name, starring Olivia Newton John and featuring music by the Electric Light Orchestra.
Xanadu.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
a stately pleasure-dome decree,
where Alph, the sacred river,
ran through caverns measureless to man
down to a sunless sea,
so twice five miles of fertile ground
with walls and towers were girdled round.
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
where blossom’d many an incense-bearing tree.
And here were forests as ancient as the hills,
enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But O! That deep romantic chasm which slanted,
down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover.
A savage place! As holy and enchanted as e’er beneath a waning moon
was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover.
In from that chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
as if this Earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
a mighty fountain momently was forced,
amid whose swift half-intermitted burst,
huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail,
and ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever,
it flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion,
through wood and dale the sacred river ran.
Then reach’d the caverns measureless to man,
and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean.
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from afar
ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves
Where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device
a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice.
A damsel with a dulcimer in a vision once I saw.
It was an Abyssinian maid,
and on her dulcimer she played,
singing of mount Abora.
Could I revive within me her symphony and song.
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me, that with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air!
Thy sunny dome!
Those caves of ice!
and all who heard should see them there!
and all should cry, Beware! Beware!
his flashing eyes! his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
and close your eyes with holy dread!
for he on honey-dew hath fed,
and drunk the milk of Paradise.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
- Posted in : General
- Author : thesnark
Comments»
Ah, the miraculous visions of an opium eater.
Pity I never wrote mine down
Seriously, one of the finest poems, along with Rime of the Ancient Mariner, that I also appreciate greatly.
Intensecure : Opium? What opium?
One day, I might tell you all about the frogs.
Mmm, frog-licking good!