Richard Burton reads Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem 'Frost at Midnight'.

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This must be one of the most beautiful poems in the English language.

[@christinemartin63]

What a rendition! Diction, voice timbre, phrasing, emotion--they make all the difference. Coleridge is the best of the Romantics.

[@elizabethcsicsery-ronay1633]

Bautiful reading. Gentle, soothing voice. Mesmerising voice.

[@robertlmullen741]

My dad gave me a copy of this poem a few years ago, three months ago he passed away. The weight of the words are heavier now.

[@meccabridgette]

I read many poems tonight but this one relaxed me liked a little kid and I enjoyed it.

[@ZenGrammy]

My favorite Coleridge poem. Thank you very much for this.

[@8nansky528]

I ADORE READING

[@Obstropolous]

Many, many thanks for posting.

[@ianskidmore]

both poet and reader at their considerable best. thank you

[@classy_dweller]

I greatly love his works !

[@gordonm7038]

I have Rich reading Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner on cassette. It's amazing. Rich reading the young Arthur pulling the impossible blade fro the hard hard stone on American TV is magnificent. The works belongs to ALL. No smile is left unseen by what makes us joyful and grateful...

[@HerAeolianHarp]

Thank you for posting this wonderful poem, one of Coleridge's most delicate and moving.

[@joshuataylor6087]

Thanks for posting.

[@thomas316]

The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud-and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. 'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought. But O! how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that fluttering stranger ! and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate sounds of things to come! So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt, Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams! And so I brooded all the following morn, Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye Fixed with mock study on my swimming book: Save if the door half opened, and I snatched A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, For still I hoped to see the stranger's face, Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, My play-mate when we both were clothed alike! Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the intersperséd vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought! My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, And think that thou shalt learn far other lore, And in far other scenes! For I was reared In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, which thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Himself in all, and all things in himself. Great universal Teacher! he shall mould Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the night-thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

[@JR-xo5jp]

What if you slept And what if In your sleep You dreamed And what if In your dream You went to heaven And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower And what if When you awoke You had that flower in you hand Ah, what then?

[@IMcGhostI]

How Coleridge should be read.

[@jasonpreater6220]

I liked the way Burton read this poem. And what an appalling school: pent mid cloisters dim with a stern preceptor.

[@mcpucho]

inaudible as dreams...

[@danielplainview1]

He misreads the line ‘My playmate when we both were clothed alike!’ It is read as though it is another mere item in a list, whereas it is an emphatic utterance. This is a better poem than this reading.

[@HowardEllisonUKVoice]

Do others hear Dylan Thomas in Coleridge? Is there a scholarly reason, or is it simply because Burton reads both poets so beautifully?

[@bernardkanejr5005]

I believe that Dylan Thomas certainly would have studied Coleridge, for sure. Thomas was so inspired by the Romantic Poets - even dressed like them. The imagery in this poem is so similar to the opening of Under Milk Wood.

[@HowardEllisonUKVoice]

Thankyou Bernard jr. Indeed, "All the hot Fair-day" is so DT!

[@merxeddie6474]

I think the poets that influenced Dylan most are John Manly Hopkins and Walt Whitman,the Coleridge his finest work,Burton an incomparable reader of poetry.

[@danielplainview1]

It’s somewhat anachronistic to suggest one might hear Dylan in Coleridge, as opposed to the inverse.

[@colinellesmere]

It seems highly probable Coleridge influenced Dylan. But perhaps the hint of influence is made by Burton's reading hailing not far from Dylan's birthplace. Quite likely Dylan influenced Burton. They were contemporaries of a kind.

[@joefish6091]

Its sad to see something hit Richard Burton very hard in 1984 , a massive speedy decline. he is skin and bone in the photo here.

[@faz7719]

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