Writing[ edit ] Coleridge, In SeptemberColeridge lived in Nether Stowey in the south west of England and spent much of his time walking through the nearby Quantock Hills with his fellow poet William Wordsworth and Wordsworth's sister Dorothy ;  His route today is memorialised as the " Coleridge Way ". Some time between 9 and 14 Octoberwhen Coleridge says he had completed the tragedy, he left Stowey for Lynton. On his return, he became sick and rested at Ash Farm, located at Culbone Church and one of the few places to seek shelter on his route.
At the time of her death she was already engaged in getting together essays for a further volume, which she proposed to publish in the autumn of or the spring Of She also intended to publish a new book of short stories, including in it some or all of Monday or Tuesday, which has been long out of print.
She left behind her a considerable number of essays, sketches, and short stories, some unpublished and some previously published in newspapers; there are, indeed, enough to fill three or four volumes.
For this book I have Critical note ode to a nightingale essay a selection from these. If she had lived, there is no doubt that she would have made large alterations and revisions in nearly all these essays before allowing them to appear in volume form.
Knowing this, one naturally hesitates to publish them as they were left. I have decided to do so, first because they seem to me worth republishing, and second because at any rate those which have already appeared in journals have in fact been written and revised with immense care.
I do not think that Virginia Woolf ever contributed any article to any paper which she did not write and rewrite several times. The following facts will, perhaps, show how seriously she took the art of writing even for the newspaper.
Shortly before her death she wrote an article reviewing a book. The author of the book subsequently wrote to the editor saying that the article was so good that he would greatly like to have the typescript of it if the editor would give it to him.
The editor forwarded the letter to me, saying that he had not got the typescript and suggesting that if I could find it, I might send it to the author. Nearly all the longer critical essays included in this volume have been subjected by her to this kind of revision before they were originally published.
This is, however, not true of the others, particularly of the first four essays. These were written by her, as usual, in handwriting and were then typed out in rather a rough state.
I have printed them as they stand, except that I have punctuated them and corrected obvious verbal mistakes. I have not hesitated to do this, since I always revised the mss. The Death of the Moth Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy-blossom which the commonest yellow-underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us.
They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own species. Nevertheless the present specimen, with his narrow hay-coloured wings, fringed with a tassel of the same colour, seemed to be content with life. It was a pleasant morning, mid-September, mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than that of the summer months.
The plough was already scoring the field opposite the window, and where the share had been, the earth was pressed flat and gleamed with moisture. Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book.
The rooks too were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which, after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to have a knot at the end of it.
Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown into the air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.
The same energy which inspired the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare-backed downs, sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the window-pane."Kubla Khan; or, A Vision in a Dream: A Fragment" / ˌ k ʊ b l ə ˈ k ɑː n / is a poem written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, completed in and published in Julian Browning specializes in the sale of autograph letters, historical documents and manuscripts dating from about to All historical autographs, letters and documents are researched and authenticated with care, described accurately, and priced fairly.
Dear Twitpic Community - thank you for all the wonderful photos you have taken over the years. We have now placed Twitpic in an archived state.
The project might all be an exploitative departure from the ''Battlestar Galactica'' brand name, but it's hard not to like where the spacemen (and spacewomen) are going.
John Keats, a widely admired poet of the English romantic period, composed his “Ode to a Nightingale” in eight stanzas (sections), each containing ten lines of rhymed iambic pentameter, with.
Following is an alphabetical listing of prominent authors who regularly appear/appeared in the newsgroups mentioned above along with a brief description of their stories. It would be the labour of a lifetime to acknowledge each and every contributor to the groups.