Nolife

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Entre chaud et froid


And a good south wind sprung up behind,
The Albatross did follow;
And every day for food or play
Came to the Marinere's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud
It perch'd for verspers nine,
Whiles all the night, thro' fog-smoke white
Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.

"God save thee, ancyent Marinere!
"From the fiends, that plague thee thus —
"Why look'st thou so ?"— With my cross bow
I shot the Albatross.

(Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere)
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