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ReadingWillow structured literacy program for Australian students

A Soliloquy Of The Full Moon, She Being In A Mad Passion

Samuel Taylor Coleridge·1772–1834
Lines:66
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation!Wherever they can comeWith clankum and blankum'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation,With fun, jeeringConjuringSky-staring,Loungering,And still to the tune of Transmogrification--Those mutteringSplutteringVentriloquogustyPoetsWith no HatsOr Hats that are rusty.They're my Torment and CurseAnd harass me worseAnd bait me and bay me, far sorer I vowThan the Screech of the OwlOr the witch-wolf's long howl,Or sheep-killing Butcher-dog's inward Bow wowFor me they all spite--an unfortunate Wight.And the very first moment that I came to LightA Rascal call'd Voss the more to his scandal,Turn'd me into a sickle with never a handle.A Night or two after a worse Rogue there came,The head of the Gang, one Wordsworth by name--`Ho! What's in the wind?' 'Tis the voice of a Wizzard!I saw him look at me most terribly blue !He was hunting for witch-rhymes from great A to Izzard,And soon as he'd found them made no more adoBut chang'd me at once to a little Canoe.From this strange Enchantment uncharm'd by degreesI began to take courage & hop'd for some Ease,When one Coleridge, a Raff of the self-same BandittiPast by--& intending no doubt to be witty,Because I'd th' ill-fortune his taste to displease,He turn'd up his nose,And in pitiful ProseMade me into the half of a small Cheshire Cheese.Well, a night or two past--it was wind, rain & hail--And I ventur'd abroad in a thick Cloak & veil--But the very first Evening he saw me againThe last mentioned Ruffian popp'd out of his Den--I was resting a moment on the bare edge of NaddleI fancy the sight of me turn'd his Brains addle--For what was I now?A complete Barley-mowAnd when I climb'd higher he made a long leg,And chang'd me at once to an Ostrich's Egg--But now Heaven be praised in contempt of the Loon,I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.Yet my heart is still fluttering--For I heard the Rogue muttering--He was hulking and skulking at the skirt of a WoodWhen lightly & brightly on tip-toe I stoodOn the long level Line of a motionless CloudAnd ho! what a Skittle-ground! quoth he aloudAnd wish'd from his heart nine Nine-pins to seeIn brightness & size just proportion'd to me.So I fear'd from my soul,That he'd make me a Bowl,But in spite of his spiteThis was more than his mightAnd still Heaven be prais'd! in contempt of the LoonI am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.