Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/151

 My mind went to and fro, and waver'd long; At length I've chosen (Samuel thinks me wrong) That, around whose azure rim Silver figures seem to swim, Like fleece-white clouds, that on the skiey Blue, Wak'd by no breeze, the self-same shapes retain; Or ocean Nymphs with limbs of snowy hue Slow-floating o'er the calm cerulean plain.

Just such a one, mon cher ami (The finger shield of industry) Th' inventive Gods, I deem, to Pallas gave What time the vain Arachne, madly brave, Challeng'd the blue-eyed Virgin of the sky A duel in embroider'd work to try. And hence the thimbled Finger of grave Pallas To th' erring Needle's point was more than callous.