Rime of an Ancient Mariner
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Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole!
And when I awoke, it rained. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank
The dead men gave a groan. They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes
But what drives on that ship so fast, Without wave or wind?
The ship is still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast
But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made
We drifted o’er the harbor bar, And I with sobs did pray— O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway.
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