Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; <br>
And here were forests ancient as the hills, <br>
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
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<p>
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted <br>
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! <br>
A savage place! as holy and enchanted <br>
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted <br>
By woman wailing for her demon-lover! <br>
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, <br>
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, <br>
A mighty fountain momently was forced: <br>
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst <br>
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, <br>
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail: <br>
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever <br>
It flung up momently the sacred river. <br>
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion <br>
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, <br>
Then reached the caverns measureless to man, <br>
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; <br>
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far <br>
Ancestral voices prophesying war! <br>
<span class="stray">The shadow of the dome of pleasure</span> <br>
<span class="stray">Floated midway on the waves;</span> <br>
<span class="stray">Where was heard the mingled measure</span><br>
<span class="stray">From the fountain and the caves.</span> <br>
It was a miracle of rare device, <br>
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
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<p>
A damsel with a dulcimer <br>
<span class="stray">In a vision once I saw:</span> <br>
<span class="stray">It was an Abyssinian maid</span> <br>
<span class="stray">And on her dulcimer she played,</span> <br>
<span class="stray">Singing of Mount Abora.</span> <br>
<span class="stray">Could I revive within me</span> <br>
<span class="stray">Her symphony and song,</span> <br>
<span class="stray">To such a deep delight ’twould win me,</span>
<br>
That with music loud and long, <br>
I would build that dome in air, <br>
That sunny dome! those caves of ice! <br>
And all who heard should see them there, <br>
And all should cry, Beware! Beware! <br>
His flashing eyes, his floating hair! <br>
Weave a circle round him thrice, <br>
And close your eyes with holy dread <br>
For he on honey-dew hath fed, <br>
12.6. Scripting St yl es 239