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.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor 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,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot : O Christ !
That ever this should be !
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night ;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.

And some in dreams assuréd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so ;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root ;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks
Had I from old and young !
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.

(Thanks go out to Bonnie Copeland – High School English Teacher)

They are the architects of this fine mess. Greenspan did more harm than heli-Ben could ever do at this point. Ben’s the fall guy, the patsy, the ancient mariner in this masterpiece. There is nothing he can do but rip the albatross off his neck, throw it overboard, and jump in after it.

Am I the only one who’s noticed the “coincidental” timing of AG’s “retirement”. Rats jumping a sinking ship (milking the nautical metaphor) is more like it.