Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze - On me alone it blew.
Samuel Taylor ColeridgeI do not call the sod under my feet my country; but language-religion-government-blood-identity in these makes men of one country.
Samuel Taylor ColeridgeOur quaint metaphysical opinions, in an hour of anguish, are like playthings by the bedside of a child deathly sick.
Samuel Taylor ColeridgeThat willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge