| The Sun came up upon the right,  |   | 
 |      Out of the Sea came he;  |   | 
 | And broad as a weft upon the left  |   | 
      Went down into the Sea.
 
  |   | 
 | And the good south wind still blew behind,  |   | 
 |      But no sweet Bird did follow |   | 
 | Ne any day for food or play   |   | 
      Came to the Marinere's hollo!
 
  |   | 
 | And I had done an hellish thing  |   | 
 |      And it would work 'em woe;  |  90 | 
 | For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird  |   | 
      That made the Breeze to blow. 
 
  |   | 
 | Ne dim ne red, like God's own head,  |   | 
 |      The glorious Sun uprist: |   | 
 | Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird  |   | 
 |      That brought the fog and mist. |   | 
 | T'was right, said they, such birds to slay  |   | 
      That bring the fog and mist.
 
  |   | 
 | The breezes blew, the white foam flew,  |   | 
 |      The furrow follow'd free:  |  100 | 
 | We were the first that ever burst  |   | 
      Into that silent Sea.
 
  |   | 
 | Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down,       |   | 
 |      'Twas sad as sad could be |   | 
 | And we did speak only to break   |   | 
      The silence of the Sea. 
 
  |   | 
 | All in a hot and copper sky  |   | 
 |      The bloody sun at noon, |   | 
 | Right up above the mast did stand,  |   | 
      No bigger than the moon.
 
  |  110 | 
 | Day after day, day after day,  |   | 
 |      We stuck, ne breath ne motion, |   | 
 | As idle as a painted Ship  |   | 
      Upon a painted Ocean.
 
  |   | 
 | Water, water, every where,  |   | 
 |      And all the boards did shrink; |   | 
 | Water, water, every where,  |   | 
      Ne any drop to drink.
 
  |   | 
 | The very deeps did rot: O Christ!  |   | 
 |      That ever this should be!  |  120 | 
 | Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs  |   | 
      Upon the slimy Sea. 
 
  |   | 
 | About, about, in reel and rout  |   | 
 |      The Death-fires danc'd at night; |   | 
 | The water, like a witch's oils,  |   | 
      Burnt green and blue and white.
 
  |   | 
 | And some in dreams assured were  |   | 
 |      Of the Spirit that plagued us so: |   | 
 | Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us  |   | 
      From the Land of Mist and Snow. 
 
  |  130 | 
 | And every tongue thro' utter drouth  |   | 
 |      Was wither'd at the root; |   | 
 | We could not speak no more than if  |   | 
      We had been choked with soot.
 
  |   | 
 | Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks  |   | 
 |      Had I from old and young; |   | 
 | Instead of the Cross the Albatross  |   | 
 |      About my neck was hung.  |   |