Untitled
Originally uploaded by Smithsonian Institution
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine.”
“God save thee, ancient Mariner:
From the fiends, that plague thee thus! -
Why look’st thou so?” – “With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross.”
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