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Christabel: Kubla Khan, a Vison; The Pains of Sleep
This is a reproduction of a book published before 1923. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understanding of the imperfections in the preservation process, and hope you enjoy this valuable book.
80 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1816
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About the author
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
2,216 books884 followersSamuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) was an English poet, critic, and philosopher who was, along with his friend William Wordsworth, one of the founders of the Romantic Movement in England and one of the Lake Poets. He is probably best known for his poems The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan, as well as his major prose work Biographia Literaria.
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
March 8, 2020
I cannot tell whether I prefer Christabel or Kubla Khan, a Vision. I loved the fantastic vision of Kubla Khan. It feels like such a genuinely inspired piece of poetry. There is so much strength in it. The same could be said for Christabel. I imagine this long narrative poem must have caused quite a sensation when it was first published. Its eroticism is quite bold and it is captivating in so many ways. These two works are such classics, something every lover of poetry should read.
I'm definitely a fan of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He is one of my favourite poets of Romanticism. There is something in S.T Coleridge's poetry that suits me. I'm not sure precisely what, but I can never get tired of his works. Everything I've read so far I really enjoyed. Original, imaginative, unique are the adjectives that first come to my mind in describing his poetry. If he needed some opium to get there who am I judge? Seriously though, his poems have stayed with me, which is more then I can say for some writers of the period. For me personally, Coleridge is much better poet then Wordsworth.
Kubla Khan has musical quality to it. Even more than that it seems to be infused with something mystical. You can almost hear the wind and the river. I like the rhythm of the poem, it feels savage and wild, at least to my ear, for example the following lines:
...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 ‘midst these dancing rocks at once and ever,
It flung up momently the sacred river!
Christabel is another majestic work of poetry. It may just be my favourite stuff by this guy. I loved it, whatever it is supposed to represent and whatever reading you prefer of it. The demonic presence of Geraldine is perhaps the most impressive part of the poem:
Like one that shuddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and in full view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side——
Pains of Sleep is another powerful poem. It is short, but so well constructed. I also liked Biographia Literaria (not sure if this edition contains it), that is some solid literary criticism. I really enjoyed reading Coleridge's thoughts on literature. All in all, I would definitely recommend this book.
I'm definitely a fan of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He is one of my favourite poets of Romanticism. There is something in S.T Coleridge's poetry that suits me. I'm not sure precisely what, but I can never get tired of his works. Everything I've read so far I really enjoyed. Original, imaginative, unique are the adjectives that first come to my mind in describing his poetry. If he needed some opium to get there who am I judge? Seriously though, his poems have stayed with me, which is more then I can say for some writers of the period. For me personally, Coleridge is much better poet then Wordsworth.
Kubla Khan has musical quality to it. Even more than that it seems to be infused with something mystical. You can almost hear the wind and the river. I like the rhythm of the poem, it feels savage and wild, at least to my ear, for example the following lines:
...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 ‘midst these dancing rocks at once and ever,
It flung up momently the sacred river!
Christabel is another majestic work of poetry. It may just be my favourite stuff by this guy. I loved it, whatever it is supposed to represent and whatever reading you prefer of it. The demonic presence of Geraldine is perhaps the most impressive part of the poem:
Like one that shuddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and in full view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side——
Pains of Sleep is another powerful poem. It is short, but so well constructed. I also liked Biographia Literaria (not sure if this edition contains it), that is some solid literary criticism. I really enjoyed reading Coleridge's thoughts on literature. All in all, I would definitely recommend this book.
February 11, 2015
Christabel: freaky/sexual
Kubla Khan: beautiful
The Pains of Sleep: yeah man i feel that
Kubla Khan: beautiful
The Pains of Sleep: yeah man i feel that
September 3, 2016
The Pains of Sleep
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eyelids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul impressed
That I am weak, yet not unblessed,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal strength and wisdom are.
But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin, -
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eyelids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul impressed
That I am weak, yet not unblessed,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal strength and wisdom are.
But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin, -
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.
June 3, 2023
"Christabel" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I am giving this classic a 5-star rating
1stly because Mary Shelley read it!
2ndly because it needs to be read more than once to get the nuances.
Wonderfully paranormal. Great poetry.
Kubla Khan: or A Vision in a Dream, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I know that it is famous, but ...
The Pains of Sleep
An honest expression of ‘soul-stifling shame’. ****
"Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees ..."
I am giving this classic a 5-star rating
1stly because Mary Shelley read it!
2ndly because it needs to be read more than once to get the nuances.
Wonderfully paranormal. Great poetry.
Kubla Khan: or A Vision in a Dream, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I know that it is famous, but ...
The Pains of Sleep
An honest expression of ‘soul-stifling shame’. ****
"Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees ..."
October 7, 2012
There is something in S.T Coleridge's poetry that suits me. I'm not sure precisely what...but everything I've read so far I really enjoyed. Original, imaginative, unique...and if he needed some opium to get there who am I judge? Seriously though, his poems stuck with me, which is more then I can say for some writers of the period---much better poet then Wordsworth I'd say..
Kubla Khan has some musical quality to it, something mystical...you can almost hear the wind and the river. I like the rhythm of the poem, it feels savage and wild at least to my ear, for example the following lines:
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 ‘midst these dancing rocks at once and ever,
It flung up momently the sacred river!
Chistabel may just be my fav stuff by this guy. I loved it, whatever it is supposed to represent and whatever reading you prefer of it. The demonic presence of Geraldine is perhaps the most impressive part of the poem:
Like one that shuddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and in full view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side——
I also liked Biographia Literaria, that is some solid literary criticism...
Kubla Khan has some musical quality to it, something mystical...you can almost hear the wind and the river. I like the rhythm of the poem, it feels savage and wild at least to my ear, for example the following lines:
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 ‘midst these dancing rocks at once and ever,
It flung up momently the sacred river!
Chistabel may just be my fav stuff by this guy. I loved it, whatever it is supposed to represent and whatever reading you prefer of it. The demonic presence of Geraldine is perhaps the most impressive part of the poem:
Like one that shuddered, she unbound
The cincture from beneath her breast:
Her silken robe, and inner vest,
Dropt to her feet, and in full view,
Behold! her bosom and half her side——
I also liked Biographia Literaria, that is some solid literary criticism...
December 31, 2022
This was exactly what I was looking for! A few days before reading this, I got a strange craving for a horror poetry collection. Strange, huh? However, when I discovered that some existed and started reading them, I found out that I wanted something even more specific: a horror poetry collection that rhymes (and that possibly tells a cohesive story over a longer amount of pages). Sadly, there aren't many books that follow that prompt (if you know of any, please tell me), so I guess I'll have to write one now.
Meanwhile, I did find this exquisite poem by Coleridge, which is probably as close as I'll get to what I wanted. Christabel is a long rhythmic poem, that is gothic and presents a figure similar to what vampires would be. Reading it out loud was incredibly fun and melodic, and it made me want to read more Coleridge Kubla Khan, on the other hand, was literally an opium fever dream, which doesn't make its story as interesting to me (there isn't really one). The descriptions are beautiful though, and it's full of symbolism.
Meanwhile, I did find this exquisite poem by Coleridge, which is probably as close as I'll get to what I wanted. Christabel is a long rhythmic poem, that is gothic and presents a figure similar to what vampires would be. Reading it out loud was incredibly fun and melodic, and it made me want to read more Coleridge Kubla Khan, on the other hand, was literally an opium fever dream, which doesn't make its story as interesting to me (there isn't really one). The descriptions are beautiful though, and it's full of symbolism.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews