Coleridge, Weatherman

Illinois this June:

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

In all my hundreds of postings, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned Coleridge. Just an oversight. Among the romantic poets we covered in Donald Ault’s English Poets of the Romantic Period, which I took at Vanderbilt in 1982, Coleridge grew to be my favorite. I’d read some of his work in high school, of course, especially Rime, but high school was too soon to appreciate him.

He captured Illinois in January, as well:

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!