The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside. — Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I fear thee, ancient Mariner!

I fear thy skinny hand!

And thou art long, and lank, and brown,

As is the ribbed sea-sand.

"Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see,

The Devil knows how to row."

Alone, alone, all, all alone,

Alone on a wide wide sea!

And never a saint took pity on

My soul in agony.