The Sun, Sand, Sea and Sky

And now, all in my own country,

I stood on the firm land!

The Hermit stepped from the boat,

And scarcely he could stand.

Oh shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!

The Hermit crossed his brow.

'Say quick' quoth he ' I bid thee say -

What manner of man art thou?

Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench

With a woeful agony,

Which forced me to begin my tale,

And then it left me free.

Since then, at an uncertain hour,

That agony returns;

And till my ghastly tale is told,

This heart within me burns.

I pass, like night, from land to land,

I have strange power of speech;

That moment that his face I see,

I know the man must hear me :

To him my tale I teach.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Samuel Taylor Coleridge