A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
Dreams, books, are each a world.
Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.
I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.