Page:Fears in Solitude - Coleridge (1798).djvu/21



Clouds, that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may control! Ye ocean waves, that, wheresoe'er ye roll, Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye woods, that listen to the night-bird's singing, Midway the smooth and perilous steep reclin'd; Save when your own imperious branches swinging Have made a solemn music of the wind! Where, like a man belov'd of God, Thro' glooms, which never woodman trod, How oft, pursuing fancies holy,