Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Melancholy. A Fragment

Stretch'd on a moulder'd Abbey's broadest wall,        &nbspWhere ruining ivies propp'd the ruins steep— Her folded arms wrapping her tatter'd pall,        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspHad Melancholy mus'd herself to sleep.        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspThe fern was press'd beneath her hair,        &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspThe dark green Adder's Tongue was there; And still as pass'd the flagging sea-gale weak, The long lank leaf bow'd fluttering o'er her cheek.        &nbspThat pallid cheek was flush'd: her eager look Beam'd eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought,        &nbspImperfect sounds her moving lips forsook, And her bent forehead work'd with troubled thought.        &nbspStrange was the dream——