Page:Fears in Solitude - Coleridge (1798).djvu/27

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Frost performs it's secret ministry, Unhelp'd by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with it's strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood. This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low burnt fire, and quivers not: