The knight’s bones are dust,
And his good sword rust:—
His soul is with the saints, I trust.
The reader of such passages can discover something of the secret of their charm by observing the dexterous handling of the meter, the vowel-music, and other technical features, but in the last analysis their beauty defies explanation: it is there that genius lies.
(c) Along with his explosive fervor Coleridge preserves a fine simplicity of diction. He appeals directly to the reader’s imagination by writing with great clearness. In this respect he often closely resembles Wordsworth. His meditative poem Frost at Midnight strongly shows this resemblance:
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch