And for no good reason a bit of Coleridge. from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
And some in dreams assurèd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/75fc98_769e54f4c1274417a8cb115ce1d4118c~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_147,h_147,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,blur_2,enc_auto/75fc98_769e54f4c1274417a8cb115ce1d4118c~mv2.jpg)