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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Melancholy. A Fragment.
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Stretched on a mouldered Abbey`s broadest wall,
  Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep--
Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall,
  Had Melancholy mused herself to sleep. 

     The fern was pressed beneath her hair,
     The dark green adder`s tongue was there;
And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak,
The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o`er her cheek.

That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look
  Beamed eloquent in slumber!  Inly wrought,
Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook,
  And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought.
     Strange was the dream-----
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