Possessing all things with intensest love,
O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there. 105
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
CCXXI
ODE TO THE WEST WIND.
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, 5
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed