Then all the charm Is broken - all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other.
Samuel Taylor ColeridgeAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: October 21, 1772
- Died: July 25, 1834
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Poetic justice, with her lifted scale, Where, in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs, And solid pudding against empty praise. Here she beholds the chaos dark and deep, Where nameless somethings in their causes sleep, Till genial Jacob, or a warm third day, Call forth each mass, a poem, or a play: How hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie, How new-born nonsense first is taught to cry.
Alexander Pope