Melancholy (Coleridge)

Stretch'd on a mouldered Abbey's broadest wall, Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep&mdash; Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall, Had melancholy mus'd herself to sleep. The fern was press'd beneath her hair, The dark green adder's tongue was there; And still as passed the flagging sea-gale weak, The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek.

That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought, Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook, And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought. Strange was the dream&mdash;