Saturday, 22 November 2008

This Peach-House room my Prison (tired plus sniffy narrowly defeats restlessness)

This Peach-house room my prison ! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness ! They, meanwhile,
Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
On springy health, along the King St,
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that still roaring pub, of which I told ;
The roaring pub, o'ercrowded, narrow, deep,
And only speckled by the dim cheap light

4 comments:

Alexis, Baron von Harlot said...

I think Mrs Coleridge spilt the hot milk on his foot on purpose.

Dale Slamma said...

Nasty piece of work that Mrs Coleridge.

TimT said...

Quick! Someone offload a bucket of boiling lactic fluid onto my foot! I want to write like that too!

Dale Slamma said...

I would but I'm lactose intolerant.