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Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" in Limerick
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<blockquote data-quote="Harte" data-source="post: 159084" data-attributes="member: 443"><p>Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, revisited.</p><p></p><p>When the Khan into Xanadu came,</p><p>He figured that he'd up his game.</p><p>So a dome he decreed</p><p>and between you and me</p><p>the region was never the same.</p><p></p><p>His construct was ten miles across.</p><p>It was walls, with high towers embossed.</p><p>There rich earth was found</p><p>and beneath, underground,</p><p>The river called Alph turned and tossed.</p><p></p><p>Within he built gardens complete.</p><p>And his trees all had foliage sweet.</p><p>Also, naturally,</p><p>there were forest with trees</p><p>that were centuries old, in the least.</p><p></p><p>Access to the underground stream</p><p>could be had through a chasm serene.</p><p>Located within</p><p>the walls, and therein</p><p>could be found the idylls of a dream.</p><p></p><p>For the chasm so eldritch and cool,</p><p>led to Alph, flowing there like a jewel.</p><p>Here the Alph was quite wild</p><p>as by company riled</p><p>ere it ran, further down, to a pool.</p><p></p><p>At the base of the chasm the Khan</p><p>had the source of a fountain he spawned.</p><p>On his order, his men</p><p>forced the stream up, and then,</p><p>through the fountain like primeval dawn.</p><p></p><p>The water, on reaching the font,</p><p>bolted out of the top with a jaunt.</p><p>And great shapes did it make</p><p>While it quivered and quaked</p><p>through the air as it sprayed so gallant.</p><p></p><p>When the dance of the water was through,</p><p>the stream formed from it sweet as the dew.</p><p>And the Alph once again</p><p>on the surface it ran</p><p>for five miles,then was lost down a flue.</p><p></p><p>Those five miles, though, were filled with ethereal</p><p>scenes of bucolic material.</p><p>Ancient forests serene</p><p>and lush grasses of green</p><p>fit for such persons imperial.</p><p></p><p>So beloved did the Khan hold these scenes</p><p>that he went there quite often to dream.</p><p>Thereupon he did hear</p><p>sounds of voices quite near</p><p>and they came from the babbling stream.</p><p></p><p>Voices both ancient and faint</p><p>a horrible future did paint.</p><p>It were war they foresaw</p><p>as they came from the maw</p><p>of the chasm so charming and quaint.</p><p></p><p>The Khan the sounds put in a dream</p><p>as he listened there next to the stream.</p><p>His dome it did float</p><p>near the shore like a boat</p><p>on a sea that the alph fed, it seemed.</p><p></p><p>Put in mind an Abyssinian maid</p><p>that for Khan had the dulcimer played.</p><p>He wished he could recall</p><p>the song that enthralled</p><p>him. Her beauty, though, never would fade.</p><p></p><p>"With music of that sort," he mused,</p><p>"my pleasure-dome gardens infused"</p><p>"they would float in the air</p><p>like that fair maiden's hair</p><p>And forever in it I'd recluse."</p><p></p><p>At this with one thought he was struck.</p><p>If a stranger should have enough luck</p><p>to stumble on his dream scene</p><p>quaking fear he would glean</p><p>from the vision of glory amok.</p><p></p><p>As warning, all strangers would cry</p><p>"Beware the cold flash of his eye!</p><p>And his wild flowing hair!"</p><p>And everyone there</p><p>would cast spells of protection, or die.</p><p></p><p>Thrice round him the pagans would weave</p><p>circles profane and then grieve</p><p>for their lack of such stature,</p><p>and unreachable rapture</p><p>so palpable, never achieved.</p><p></p><p>Harte</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Harte, post: 159084, member: 443"] Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, revisited. When the Khan into Xanadu came, He figured that he'd up his game. So a dome he decreed and between you and me the region was never the same. His construct was ten miles across. It was walls, with high towers embossed. There rich earth was found and beneath, underground, The river called Alph turned and tossed. Within he built gardens complete. And his trees all had foliage sweet. Also, naturally, there were forest with trees that were centuries old, in the least. Access to the underground stream could be had through a chasm serene. Located within the walls, and therein could be found the idylls of a dream. For the chasm so eldritch and cool, led to Alph, flowing there like a jewel. Here the Alph was quite wild as by company riled ere it ran, further down, to a pool. At the base of the chasm the Khan had the source of a fountain he spawned. On his order, his men forced the stream up, and then, through the fountain like primeval dawn. The water, on reaching the font, bolted out of the top with a jaunt. And great shapes did it make While it quivered and quaked through the air as it sprayed so gallant. When the dance of the water was through, the stream formed from it sweet as the dew. And the Alph once again on the surface it ran for five miles,then was lost down a flue. Those five miles, though, were filled with ethereal scenes of bucolic material. Ancient forests serene and lush grasses of green fit for such persons imperial. So beloved did the Khan hold these scenes that he went there quite often to dream. Thereupon he did hear sounds of voices quite near and they came from the babbling stream. Voices both ancient and faint a horrible future did paint. It were war they foresaw as they came from the maw of the chasm so charming and quaint. The Khan the sounds put in a dream as he listened there next to the stream. His dome it did float near the shore like a boat on a sea that the alph fed, it seemed. Put in mind an Abyssinian maid that for Khan had the dulcimer played. He wished he could recall the song that enthralled him. Her beauty, though, never would fade. "With music of that sort," he mused, "my pleasure-dome gardens infused" "they would float in the air like that fair maiden's hair And forever in it I'd recluse." At this with one thought he was struck. If a stranger should have enough luck to stumble on his dream scene quaking fear he would glean from the vision of glory amok. As warning, all strangers would cry "Beware the cold flash of his eye! And his wild flowing hair!" And everyone there would cast spells of protection, or die. Thrice round him the pagans would weave circles profane and then grieve for their lack of such stature, and unreachable rapture so palpable, never achieved. Harte [/QUOTE]
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