Lightly tripping o'er the land, Deftly skimming o'er the main, Scarce our fairy wings bedewing With the frothy mantling brine, Scarce our silver feet acquainting With the verdure-vested ground; Now like swallows o'er a river Gliding low with quivering pinion,… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
If we take care of the inches, we will not have to worry about the miles. — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Now, we are agreed, I and my destinies. The total world, Above, below, whate'er is seen or known, And all that men, and all… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are. — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Commemoration of Brooke Foss Westcott, Bishop of Durham, Teacher, 1901 Be not afraid to pray... to pray is right. Pray if thou canst with… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Where'er ye sojourn, and whatever names Ye are or shall be called; fairies, or sylphs, Nymphs of the wood or mountain, flood or field:… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
With all your music, loud and lustily, With every dainty joy of sight and smell, Prepare a banquet meet to entertain The Lord of… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Long time a child, and still a child, when years Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I; For yet I lived like one… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
The soul of man is larger than the sky, Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark Of the unfathomed center. — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Now shall I become a common tale, A ruin'd fragment of a worn-out world; Unchanging record of unceasing change. Eternal landmark to the tide… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Go your way. Forget Prometheus, And all the woe that he is doom'd to bear; By his own choice this vile estate preferring To… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
Be not afraid to pray--to pray is right. Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray, Though hope be weak or sick with… — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
The soul of man is larger than the sky, Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark Of the unfathomed centre. — Hartley Coleridge Copy Share Image
