“The rime clung to the windowpane like ghostly lace,” in a winter
lyric; In Coleridge’s “
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” the archaic spelling “rime” denotes
frost, not rhyme: “And now
there came both mist and snow, / And it grew wondrous cold: / And ice, mast-high, came floating by, / As
green as emerald... / And through the drifts the snowy clifts / Did send a dismal sheen: / Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— / The ice was all between... / The ice was here, the ice was there, / The ice was all around: / It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, / Like noises in a swound!... / And every tongue, through utter drought, / Was withered at
the root; / We could not speak, no more than if / We had been choked with soot... / Ah! well a-day! what evil looks / Had I from old and young! / Instead of
the cross,
the Albatross / About my neck was hung... / The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, /
The furrow followed free; / We were the first that ever burst / Into that silent sea... / Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, / ’Twas sad as sad
could be; / And we did speak only to break / The silence of the sea!... / All in a hot and copper sky, / The bloody Sun, at noon, / Right up above the mast did stand, / No bigger than the Moon... / Day after day, day after day, / We stuck, nor breath nor
motion; / As idle as a painted ship / Upon a painted ocean... / Water, water, every where, / And all the boards did shrink; / Water, water, every where, / Nor any drop to drink... / The very deep did rot: O Christ! / That ever this should be! / Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs / Upon the slimy sea... / About, about, in reel and rout / The death-
fires danced at night; / The water, like a witch’s oils, / Burnt green, and
blue and white... / And some in dreams assured were / Of
the Spirit that plagued us so; / Nine fathom deep he had followed us / From the land of mist and snow... / And every tongue, through utter drought, / Was withered at the root; / We could not speak, no more than if / We had been choked with soot... / Ah! well a-day! what evil looks / Had I from old and young! / Instead of the
cross, the Albatross / About my neck was hung”; “The rime of age frosts the mirror of youth”; “Beneath the rime, the river still flows”; The poet’s heart bore rime from winter’s long grief.