 Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge Read for LibriVox.org by Alan Clare In Zanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree, where Alph, the sacred river, ran through caverns, measureless to man down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens, bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests, ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But o' that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwart, a sedum cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath the waning moon, was haunted by a woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with senseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast-thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced, a mid-who's swift, half-intermitted burst, huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresh's flail. And amid these dancing rocks, at once and ever, it flung up momentally the sacred river. Five miles, meandering, with amazing motion, through wood and dale, the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns, measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean. And amid this tumult, Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure-dome, with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer in a vision, once I saw. It was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would with me, that with music, loud and long, I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice. And all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him, thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honey dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. End of Poet This recording is in the Public Dome. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree, where off the sacred river ran through Caverland's measureless demand down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright, with sinuous rills where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests as ancient as the hills, and folding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill athwart a cedar-encover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by a woman wailing for her demon-lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast-thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentaly was forced amid whose swift half-intermended burst huge fragrance vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momentaly the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion, through wood and dale the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure of the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played singing of Mount Taborah. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome and air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware. His flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. In Zanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph the Sacred River ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea, so twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills and folding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill a thwart a cedern cover, a savage place as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover, and from this chasm with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momently was forced, a mid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and mid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momently the Sacred River, five miles meandering with a mazy motion through wood and dale the Sacred River ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and mid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer in a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight twid win me that with music, loud and long, I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honey-doe hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. In Zanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree, where Alph the Sacred River ran through caverns, measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill a thwarted seed and cover, a savage place as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst, huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresh's rail, and amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momently the Sacred River. Five miles meandering with amaze emotion through wood and dale the Sacred River ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubler heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingling measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice, a damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision once I saw. It was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he, on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. This recording is in the public domain. So, twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient of the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill a thwarted cedar and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air between a waning moon was haunted by women wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm was ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty mountain momently was formed, a mid-who's swift half-intermittent burst, huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the threshold flail. And amid these dancing rocks at once and ever, it flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion, through wood and dale the sacred river ran, then reached the cavern's measureless demand, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abara. How could I revive within me her symphony and song? To such a deep delight would win me, that with music allowed and long, I would build that dominaire, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, Beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on a honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem. This recording is in the public demand. Kublaqon. By Samuel Talek, Olridge. Red for Librivox.org. By Gemma Blythe. In Xanadu did Kublaqon a stately Pleasuredome Decree. Where Elf, the Sacred River, ran, through caverns, measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous reels, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were far as ancient as the hills, in folding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that depromantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, as water set in cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted, as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman welling for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in vast thick bounce were breathing, a mighty fountain momentaly was forced, amid whose swift half intermitted burst, huge fragments vaulted like rebounding ale, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and mid these down-thing rocks that once and ever had flung up momentaly the sacred river, five miles meandering with amazing motion. Through Woodendale the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns, measureless to man, and sank in Dumult to a lifeless ocean. And amid this Dumult, Kubler heard from far, ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain on the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer, and a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played singing of Mount De Borda. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me that with music loud and long? I would build that dominaire, that sunny dome those caves of ice, and all her heard should see them there, and all should cry, Beware, beware his flashing eyes, his floating air. With a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on unidue hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, read for LibriVox.org by J. C. Guan, Shenyang, June 2007. In Zanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where alph the sacred river ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, and folding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm, which slanted down the green hill toward the seed and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as ever beneath a waning moon was haunted, by woman wailing for her demon lover, and from this chasm with ceaseless turmoil seething. As if this earth's infastic pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced amid whose swift half-intermitted burst, huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, worked happy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid this dancing rocks, at once and ever. It flung up momentally the sacred river, five miles meandering with mazy motion, through wood and dill the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean. Admit this tumult Kubla heard from far, ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain in the caves? It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice, a damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision I once saw. It was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Aborah. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me? That with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he unhoneyed you had fed and drunk the muck of paradise. And of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Kublikon by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, read for LibriVox.org by John Scott Jones In Zanadu did Kublikon a stately pleasure-dome decree, where Alph the Sacred River ran through Cavern's measureless demand down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests, ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill a thwart a cedar and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by a woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced, a mid-who's swift half-intermitted burst, huge fragments vaulted, like rebounding hail or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momentally the Sacred River. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion through wood and dale, the Sacred River ran, then reached the Cavern's measureless demand and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean. At mid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me her symphony and song to such a deep delight twid with me that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him, thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honey-dew half fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. A stately pleasure dome decree, where alph the sacred river ran through caverns, measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers regurgitled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwart, a cedern cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted, as air beneath the waning moon was haunted by a woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast, thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momently was forth, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail. And, amid these dancing rocks at once and ever, it flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion, through wood and dale the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, amid this tumult Kubla heard from far, ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves? It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision once I saw, it was an ambicinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Avarah. Could I revive within me her symphony in song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all who should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honey-doe hath fed and drunk the milk of paradise. In Zanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree, where Elf, the sacred river, ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous reels, were blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwarted seed and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon, was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth and fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced, amid whose swift half-intermittent burst huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momentally the sacred river, five miles meandering with a mazy motion, through wooden dale the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice, a damsel with a dulcimer in a vision once I saw. It was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abora, could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dominaire, that sunny dome those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he, on a honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The sacred river ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill of thwart a seeding cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced, a mid-who's swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath a thresher's flail. And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momentally the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion through word and dale the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns, measureless to man, and sunk in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and mid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer in a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Aborah. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Sacred River ran through Cavern's measureless demand down to a sunless sea, so twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deprimantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, lathwart a cedar and cover, a savage place as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by women wailing for her demon lover, and from this chasm with ceaseless turmoil seething as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momently was forced amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments belted like rebounding hail or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momently the Sacred River. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion through Woodendale the Sacred River ran, then reached the Cavern's measureless demand and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where it was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer and a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid and on her dulcimer she played singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me her symphony and song to such a deep delight to it win me that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice. And all who hurried should see them there and all should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him thrice and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, read for LibriVox.org by Mary Mack. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where alf the sacred river ran through caverns, measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree. And here were forests, ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwar to cedar and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momently was forced, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with amazing motion through wooden dale, the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubla heard from far, ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves? It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision once I saw, it was an abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me, her symphony and song, to such a deep delight twidwin me, that with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. In Zanadu de Kublikon, a stately pleasure-dome decree, where alf the Sacred River ran through Cavern's measureless demand, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous reels where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwart a cedern cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath the waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments faulted like rebounding hail or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up momentally the Sacred River. Five miles meandering with mazy motion through Woodendale the Sacred River ran, then reached the cavern's measureless demand, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer and a vision once I saw, it was an abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played singing of Mount Ebera. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honey-doe hath fed and drunk the milk of paradise. And of poem this recording is in the public domain. Kubla Khan, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, read for LibriVox.org by Peter Yersley. In Zanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree, where Alph the Sacred River ran through caverns, measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwart, a seed and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon, was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover, and from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momentally was forced, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresh's flail, and amid these dancing rocks, at once and ever, it flung up momentally the sacred river. Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion through wood and dale, the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult, Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer, in a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair. Weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. So twice five miles of fertile ground, where the walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with the sinew's reels, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forest-singed as the hills, and folding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill hath words a cedar cover. A savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon, was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover. And, from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething as if earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fount him momentary was forced, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail or chaff of grain beneath the thresher's flail. And, amid these dancing rocks set once and ever, it flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with amazing motion through wood and dale the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean. Amid this tumult, Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the founting and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of eyes. A densil with a dulcimer in a vision once I saw, it was an abyssinian maid, and, on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abura, could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of eyes. And all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware! His fleshing eyes, his floating air, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he unhoneyed you hath fed, and drank the milk of paradise. And of poem this recording is in the public domain. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alph, the sacred river, ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, in folding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwart, a cedern cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as air beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momently was forced, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments faulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks at once and ever it flung up, momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with amazing motion, through wood and dale the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves? It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer and a vision once I saw, it was an Abyssinian maid, and her dulcimer she played. Singing of Mount Ebora, could I revive within me her symphony and song to such a deep delight, twid wind me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware. His flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Where Alph, the sacred river, ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests ancient as the hills, in folding sunny spots of greenery. But, oh, that deep romantic chasm which slanted down the green hill, a thwart, a cedar, and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as ever beneath a waning moon was haunted by a woman wailing for her demon lover. And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth and fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momently was forced. Amid whose swift half-in-a-minute burst, huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks, at once and ever it flown up momentally the sacred river, five miles meandering with a mazy motion, through wood and dale the sacred river ran. Then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean. Amid this tumult, Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer won the vision once I saw. It was an Abyssinian maid, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with music loud and long I would build that dome in air, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware. His flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle round him thrice, and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree, where Alf, the sacred river, ran through caverns measureless to man, down to a sudden the sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground, with walls and towers were girdled round, and there were gardens bright, with sinuous rills where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, and here were forests, ancient as the hills, enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh, that deep romantic chasm, which slanted down the green hill a thwarted cedar and cover, a savage place, as holy and enchanted as there beneath the waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon lover, and from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, as if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, a mighty fountain momently was forced, amid whose swift half-intermitted burst huge fragments vaulted, like rebounding hail, or chaffy grain beneath a thresher's flail, and amid these dancing rocks, at once and ever, it flung up momently the sacred river, five miles meandering, with a mazy motion through Woodendale, the sacred river ran, then reached the caverns measureless to man, and sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean, and amid this tumult, Kubelkon heard from far ancestral voices, prophesying war. The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves, where was heard the mingled measure, from the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, a sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice. A damsel with a dulcimer in a vision once I saw, it was an abyssion made, and on her dulcimer she played, singing of Mount Abura, could I revive within me her symphony and song, to such a deep delight would win me, that with the music loud and long I would build that dominaire, that sunny dome, those caves of ice, and all who heard should see them there, and all should cry, beware, beware, his flashing eyes, his floating hair, weave a circle around him with rice and close your eyes with holy dread, for he on honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise.