Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping read more

A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.

Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May read more

Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!

So lonely 'twas that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

So lonely 'twas that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

It sounds like stories from the land of spirits,
If any man obtain that which he merits,
read more

It sounds like stories from the land of spirits,
If any man obtain that which he merits,
Or any merit that which he obtains.

Prose--words in their best order;--poetry--the best words in
their best order.

Prose--words in their best order;--poetry--the best words in
their best order.