Are these _her_ naked ribs, which fleck’d The sun that did behind them peer? And are these two all, all the crew, That woman and her fleshless Pheere? _His_ bones were black with many a crack, All black and bare, I ween; Jet-black and bare, save where with rust Of mouldy damps and charnel crust They’re patch’d with purple and green. _Her_ lips are red, _her_ looks are free, _Her_ locks are yellow as gold: Her skin is as white as leprosy, And she is far liker Death than he; Her flesh makes the still air cold. The naked Hulk alongside came And the Twain were playing dice; “The Game is done! I’ve won, I’ve won!” Quoth she, and whistled thrice. A gust of wind sterte up behind And whistled thro’ his bones; Thro’ the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth Half-whistles and half-groans. With never a whisper in the Sea Off darts the Spectre-ship; While clombe above the Eastern bar The horned Moon, with one bright Star Almost atween the tips. One after one by the horned Moon (Listen, O Stranger! to me) Each turn’d his face with a ghastly pang And curs’d me with his ee. Four times fifty living men, With never a sigh or groan, With heavy thump, a lifeless lump They dropp’d down one by one. Their souls did from their bodies fly,-- They fled to bliss or woe; And every soul it pass’d me by, Like the whiz of my Cross-bow. IV. “I fear thee, ancyent Marinere! “I fear thy skinny hand; “And thou art long and lank and brown “As is the ribb’d Sea-sand. “I fear thee and thy glittering eye “And thy skinny hand so brown”-- Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all all alone Alone on the wide wide Sea; And Christ would take no pity on My soul in agony. The many men so beautiful, And they all dead did lie! And a million million slimy things Liv’d on--and so did I. I look’d upon the rotting Sea, And drew my eyes away; I look’d upon the eldritch deck, And there the dead men lay. I look’d to Heaven, and try’d to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust. I clos’d my lids and kept them close, Till the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Ne rot, ne reek did they; The look with which they look’d on me, Had never pass’d away. An orphan’s curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high: But O! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man’s eye! Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse And yet I could not die.