“Never till this day
Did life disturb the dense eternity
Of joyless quiet; never skylark's song,
Or storm-bird's prescient scream, or eaglet's cry,
Made vital the gross fog. The very light
Is but an alien that can find no welcome;
So horrible the silent solitude,
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That e'en those vile artificers of wrong,
Brute instruments of ghastly cruelty,
Whose grisly faces were too fell to dream of, --
Even they seem'd comfortable when they turn'd
Their backs upon me! Oh, too bitter shame,
I could have wept to beg them tarry longer!"
Hartley Coleridge - Prometheus p.290