Kubla Khan
Or a Vision in a Dream.
A Fragment.
- In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
- Down to a sunless sea.
- So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. - But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail :
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war ! - The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
- It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! - A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me, - That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise. - - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
In Remembrance
I’m writing this poem in remembrance of a moment
When all seemed hopeless,
Dreams were meaningless,
And love was something that appeared ever before
A soul that couldn’t take hold of it
Because of a fear that muzzled a mind,
And led it from peace to mistrust.
And at that moment
God seemed to not be there
Because a mind created a picture
Of a moment that was unreal.
This poem is in remembrance of a moment called now
That has passed away
At the sound of a moment that is nearly here.
- Porter
A Poem to Ponder
If everything that I love passed away
Would the things that I love be different from the things I loved?
And would my definition of love change?
If so for better of for worse?
And if contentment could be reached
Would it be beneficial?
Or would it take away what drives my mind to know more
And my soul to become purer?
And if I understood love would it change me?
Or would I have to change the meaning of love?
The last of the thoughts I ponder is if truth is what I make it
Is it worth calling truth?
Or if what was wrong is now right
Would there be any light left to illuminate
What was, in the past, so commonly called truth?
-Porter
