Gustave Doré and The Rimes of The ancient Mariner. Fragments

The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
( by Samuel T Coleridge)



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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