SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace; For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face.
I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand; And that for ten long years he woo'd The Lady of the Land.
I told her how he pined, and ah' The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own.
She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes, and modest grace; And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face!
But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night;
That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade
There came and look'd him in the face An angel beautiful and bright, And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knight!
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