Satans Daughter

No matter what you may believe or what you may see, seeing is believing and believing is seeing.

Touch not my anointed, do my witches no harm.

FROST AT MIDNIGHT

THE DARK LORD

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry

Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side

My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. "Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame

Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;

Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,

Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,

Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself,

And makes a toy of Thought.

But O! how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang

From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,