Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/186

 Whence Fancy falls, fluttering her idle wing. For who of woman born may paint the hour, When seiz'd in his mid course the Sun shall wane Making noon ghastly! Who of woman born May image in his wildly-working thought, How the black-visag'd, red-eyed Fiend outstretcht Beneath th' unsteady feet of Nature groans In feverish slumbers—destin'd then to wake, When fiery whirlwinds thunder his dread name And Angels shout, ! How his arm The mighty Spirit lifting high in air Shall swear by Him, the ever-living , !

Believe thou, O my soul, Life is a vision shadowy of Truth,