Kubla Khan
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Or, a vision in a dream. A fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ’mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Free Will
Will Harris reads his poem, 'Free Will'. Directed by Matthew Thompson and commissioned by the Adrian Brinkerhoff Poetry Foundation.
Half Written Love Letter
Selina Nwulu reads her poem, 'Half Written Love Letter'. Directed by Matthew Thompson and commissioned by the Adrian Brinkerhoff Poetry Foundation.
A trail through the archive of Black British history
An overlooked canon of Black British literature waiting to be uncovered
The gift of time
'There is nothing like the first 1,000 or so words, those first voices, the wild ideas and unfiltered dialogue scribbled into notebooks'
Didi
'My Grandfather did not let the world harden him. His eyes, which have greyed with his hair, shine like buttons when he laughs.'
Zineb Sedira
Zineb Sedira's installation at Tate Britain brings 20th century African cinema to centre stage
Shoot the People
Andy Mundy-Castle's documentary portrait of the the British-Nigerian photographer, filmmaker and activist Misan Harriman
Uprising
Tahmima Anam's unflinching novel inspired by the real women of Banishanta, Bangladesh
Illuminating, in-depth conversations between writers.
Listen to all episodes
SpotifyApple Podcasts
Amazon Music
YouTube
Other apps
The series that tells the true-life stories of migration to the UK.
Listen to all episodes
SpotifyApple Podcasts
Amazon Music
YouTube
Other apps
Nine writers explore the elusive emotional truth behind narratives and storytelling.
Listen to all episodes
SpotifyApple Podcasts
YouTube










