In the summer of the year 1797, the author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farmhouse between

Porlock and
Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne
had been prescribed, from the effects of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment that he was reading the
following sentence, or words of the same substance, in Purchas's Pilgrimage: "Here the Khan Kubla commanded a
palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall." The
author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has
the most vivid confidence that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines; if that indeed
can be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the
correspondent expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to
have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the
lines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unforunately called out by a person on business from Porlock,
and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification,
that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the
exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface
of a stream into which a stone has been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter!

Kubla Khan Symbolism, Imagery & Wordplay

There’s more to a poem than meets the eye.
Welcome to the land of symbols, imagery, and wordplay. Before you travel any further, please know that there may be
some thorny academic terminology ahead. Never fear, Shmoop is here. Check out our "How to Read a Poem" section for
a glossary of terms.

The River Alph

This big, dramatic river takes over most of the first half of the poem. Our speaker is a fan – he seems to be constantly
drawn back to the river. Descriptions of the river largely focus on how powerful it is. It gives us the poem's main images
of the force and excitement of the natural world. While other places may be quiet or safe or calm, the river is noisy, active,
and even a little dangerous. It is also always moving, traveling across the poem and across the landscape from the
peaceful gardens to the faraway sea.

• Line 3: The river is specifically introduced here, the only time its name is mentioned. The name Alph may be an
allusion to the Greek river Alpheus. This connects us to a whole world of classical literature, art and history that
was important to English poets.
• Lines 21-22: Here the river surges up in a huge fountain, and it's so strong that it tears up pieces of rock and
throws them along with it. The speaker wants us to understand this power, so he uses a simile, comparing the
rocks to "rebounding hail." For added emphasis, he offers another simile in the next line. This time the
comparison is with the process of "threshing." When you harvest a grain like wheat, you need to separate the part
you can eat from the part that covers it, which is called the chaff (that's why he calls the grain "chaffy" in line 22).
In Coleridge's time, you would do this by beating the grain with a tool called a "flail." This would loosen the chaff
and make it easy to remove. So when you hit that grain, it would bounce and tumble around like the rocks in the
raging River Alph.
• Line 25:This poem has little moments of alliteration all over the place, but this is a big one. All the major words
in this line start with "m." The murmuring sound of these words picks up the lazy, slow-moving feeling of the
river at this moment in the poem.

The Ocean

When it shows up in the poem, the ocean is a gloomy, mysterious and far-away place. Nothing in particular happens there,
except that it marks the end of the river. It's a dead-end, a place where there is no life or light. The other settings in the
poem tend to be active and alive. The forest is sunny, the river is noisy, the dome is warm, even the caves are deep and
icy. The ocean, however is just an empty, open space. It might make us think a little bit of the Underworld, a place where
things simply end.
 • Line 5: Our first image of the ocean emphasizes the absence of light. It's a place where no sun shines, far away
from the "sunny spots" we will see in line 11. The alliteration of the two "s" sounds also adds to the sense of
mystery and emptiness, and gives this short line a slithery, sinister, sound.
• Line 28: Here it is the absence of life that becomes the most important part of this image of the ocean.
• Line 32: In this line, the ocean is a blank canvas. The shadow of the palace floats on it, but we don't have any
sense that it has a life of its own.

Xanadu – a.k.a. The Pleasure Dome

This might sound a little more exciting than it really is. As far as we can tell, it just means a big, especially nice palace,
with pretty gardens all around it. The dome is a safe, sunny, happy place. In the poem, it stands for all the majesty and the
triumph of mankind, since it's the house of an emperor. However, when it is compared to the power and the immensity of
nature, it might not seem so big after all.

• Line 1: This is the only time the name of the palace is mentioned. This dream version of Xanadu is an allusion to
a real historical place, built as a summer palace in what is now called Inner Mongolia. Marco Polo visited it,
starting a legend that filtered all the way down to Samuel Coleridge in England.
• Line 2: Let's talk for a second about this "dome." What are we supposed to see in our heads when Coleridge uses
that word? We'd guess that it's not meant to be just a dome hovering in space or an empty shell. The dome is his
way of referring to the legendary palace of Xanadu. When you use one feature of a thing to refer to the whole,
that's called metonymy.
• Line 31-32: This comes up in a few places, but here the dome is a symbol for the work of mankind, set against the
natural world. The "shadow of the dome…on the waves" contrasts a building with the wild, unknowable power of
nature - a major theme in this poem.

The Caverns

The caverns are huge, frightening, cold, and fascinating to our speaker. They appear in the poem for just a moment at first,
as the place the river passes through. As things move along, however, we start to see that these caverns are important in
this poem. They are the opposite of the warm, happy palace. They are dramatic, freezing, underground, and represent
everything the pleasure dome is not.

• Line 4: The phrase, "caverns measureless to man," is a good example of hyperbole. The speaker could say that the
caverns are "really deep" or "you can't see the bottom." Instead, the depth of the caverns is exaggerated to an
infinite point, adding to the feeling of mystery. In the real world, any cavern could eventually be measured, no
matter how deep. So what and where are these strange caves?
• Line 27: Here we see the caverns again, described in exactly the same way: "measureless to man." The repetition
of this phrase emphasizes their importance and drives home their sense of mystery and depth.
• Line 47: When they are contrasted with the sunny dome like this, the caves of ice becomes a symbol of the forces
of nature that lie under and surround the works of man. We keep mentioning this because Coleridge keeps
pushing it into view. The clash of these forces is one of the main points of this vision.

The Woman and Her Demon Lover

This one comes and goes fast, but it's a really powerful image. The line calls up feelings of supernatural power, romance
and excitement. A waning moon and the spooky chasm all help set a scene that is wilder and more foreign than what
we've already seen in the poem.

• Line 16: There could be a whole other poem or even a novel in here, built around the image of this wailing
woman. We get just a taste of the drama of her story, but it helps to set the mood of this landscape. Check out the
way that adding the word "demon" changes and deepens this image. If she was just wailing for a plain old "lover,"
that would be sad, but not nearly so strange and exciting.
Rhyming Iambic Meter

Iambic just means that the poem is made up of lots of two-syllable units, in which the stress is placed on the second
syllable. The lines also rhyme, although maybe not in the ways you'd expect.

"Rhyming Iambic Meter" makes the form and meter sound simpler than it really is. Coleridge could have sat down to
write a standard iambic poem. If that were your project, there are a few ways to use rhyme and meter to let your readers
know that's what you're doing. Ideally, your lines would all have the same number of iambic syllables. If they had four,
we would call it "iambic tetrameter" if they had five, "iambic pentameter," and so on. But Coleridge didn't make this a
normal poem. Check out the first section. Lines 1-7 have 8 syllables each, and lines 8-11 have 10 each, so it's a mix of
tetrameter and pentameter.

Who cares exactly how long the lines are? Well, you might have been more likely to notice if you lived in the early 19th
Century. You'd be more used to reading poets like Alexander Pope, who would rather chew off his arm than jump around
like this in a poem. But we're willing to bet that you noticed this change in a subtle way, even if you didn't stop to count
the syllables.

Think about the effects Coleridge can create with this technique. In the short lines at the beginning of the section, he's
giving us a quick overview, and describing the rushing of a river to the sea. Then, as the poem slows down, the lines get
longer too, and as we wind along those "sinuous rills," we start to feel the poem meandering a little too. When the setting
changes in line 31 and the poem shifts gears, the lines get shorter again, back to the eight-syllable length. So the line
lengths are a little weird at first, but when we look closer there's some logic to them.

Same goes for the rhyme – it isn't regular. Sometimes Coleridge loops back and picks up a rhyme he hasn't used in a
while, creating a kind of echo in the poem. Remember that Coleridge is describing a drugged out dream here. Would it
make sense to write it like a nursery rhyme? He creates strange music, where the different parts fit together in unexpected
and beautiful ways.

Speaker Point of View

Who is the speaker, can she or he read minds, and, more importantly, can we trust her or him?

We think the speaker of this poem sounds like he's trying to impress a crowd. He would be right at home at a circus or a
magic show. He could even be a con artist, performing card tricks on the street. He knows he has to draw his audience in
right away, and make his pitch fascinating.

The speaker doesn't waste any time because he doesn't want to lose us. His descriptions are fast and dramatic at first. He
paints a picture that enchants us and pulls us in. Once he's got us, he can slow his patter down, or speed it up as he sees fit.
He can tell us about his strange visions, but he's always careful to add some verbal fireworks. He repeats himself for
dramatic effect ("That sunny dome, those caves of ice!" [line 47]), just like you would if you were preaching, entertaining,
or trying to sell something to a crowd. He's confident, even a little showy, but he's also got one eye on the crowd, making
sure we're with him. He never lets the energy drop.

Sound Check
Read this poem aloud. What do you hear?

This poem sounds to us like a symphony orchestra. It has all kinds of different sounds, movements and tones. When the
river is crashing through the caves, we imagine the pounding of kettledrums. Listen to those rocks crashing: "Huge
fragments vaulted like rebounding hail" (line 21). That word "rebounding" has such a hollow, open sound that we can hear
the pounding of the rocks even as they are being described. Then, when we travel through the gardens, we hear the soft
sounds of the woodwinds. It's hard not to feel soothed by the tone of line 9: "Where blossomed many an incense bearing
tree." These are calm, quiet moments. When you say the words out loud, they have the sound of a soothing, delicate
instrument like a flute.

At the other extreme, the scary, flashing-eyed figure that appears at the end reminds us of the horns, sharp and brassy and
startling. Listen to the way the words cut through the air at this moment: "Beware! Beware!"(line 49). These words are
blurted out, quick and loud, like the sound of a trumpet blaring out a warning. The poem is a journey of sounds. It tries to
use the effects of language as if they were the different parts of an orchestra.

What’s Up With the Title?

The main title of this poem is just plain "Kubla Khan." It's a pretty great name, isn't it? Sounds tough, mysterious, and
exotic. We're willing to bet that Coleridge wanted that name to echo in a big way, to call up associations and feelings. It
sets a tone for the poem, since the title transports us to another place and time before we even get started. But there's
another piece. The full title is: "Kubla Khan Or a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment."

All of a sudden, Coleridge is giving us a much more detailed description of the poem itself. The famous back-story, (as
told by Coleridge), is that he wasn't feeling well one night. So he took some opium (a drug), and had this strange dream.
We think this really explains a lot about this poem. Do you feel how hard he works to describe an altered state? The
meter, the rhyme the subject matter are all trying to make you feel what it's like to see things that aren't normally there.
Letting you know that it's not only a dream but also "a vision in a dream" leaves you extra prepared for the weirdness
that's coming.

Last of all, how about "A Fragment?" Apparently Coleridge dreamed about writing several hundred lines, and when he
woke up, he started writing them down. He was interrupted, in the middle of writing, and when he came back, he had
forgotten the rest. What about this poem might make it seem like a fragment? Does it seem finished to you?

Natural Drama

The speaker of this poem finds a lot of dramatic material in nature. He's totally captivated by the power he sees in the
natural world. This is pretty typical for Coleridge. His poems tend to be intense, emotional and rooted in the natural
world. These are not polite, quiet, regular poems. They celebrate emotion instead of restraining it. "Kubla Khan" is
stranger than most of Coleridge's poems, but almost none of them are meant to merely be amusing. He wants you to think
about big, exciting ideas. Bringing all the raging power of nature into his poems is a way to get you to think about love,
death, the soul and eternity.

(5) Tree Line.

This poem falls right in the middle on the Tough-O-Meter. It's not going out of its way to make things hard for you, but
there are a lot of tricky words and strange images to wade through before you can really start to feel like you've got your
head around it.

Kubla Khan Setting

Where It All Goes Down

Xanadu, during the reign of Mongol emperor Kubla Khan

Coleridge has a lot to say about the setting of this poem. He devotes many lines to describing the landscape, the caverns,
and the sea. That works for the first half of the poem, but then that Abyssinian maid shows up, and then there are the
flashing eyes, and the milk of a paradise. All this new stuff makes it hard to believe we're still in the same place as the
river and the palace. Maybe we need a setting that can encompass this whole experience.

So here's what we think: This poem could take place in a kid's bedroom. Remember that age when you were really excited
about faraway places and legends and monsters? Imagine Coleridge as your cool uncle who told you amazing, spooky
bedtime stories. "Kubla Khan" is sort of about a person and a place, but it's really more about how you can create those
things with words alone. That's the heart of the bedtime story. You didn't need pictures or movies or a plane or any other
props. Coleridge needed sleep and sickness and drugs in order to have this vision. But the amazing thing about this poem
is that he can recreate this experience without any of those things. He just needs the sound and the texture of words. So,
imagine yourself tucked in on a rainy night in winter, just a candle lighting the room, listening to Coleridge build castles
with his words.

Kubla Khan Trivia

Brain Snacks: Tasty Tidbits of Knowledge

• Coleridge had a close but sometimes rocky friendship with the poet William Wordsworth. They collaborated on a
collection of poems called the Lyrical Ballads, one of the big achievements of English poetry. (Source)
• Coleridge was also, sadly, a notorious drug addict. This wasn't just a one-time thing before writing "Kubla Khan."
Persistent illness left him hooked on laudanum, a medical preparation of opium. (Source)
• Kubla Khan ruled the largest empire the world has ever seen. It stretched from Hungary to Korea. Think about
how much ground that covers. No wonder he needed somewhere nice to relax. (Source)
• The famous Italian explorer Marco Polo was employed by Kubla Khan for 17 years, so he had plenty of time to
get to know Xanadu.

Kublai Khan

Following the conquest of China by the Mongolian general and statesman Kublai Khan he established
himself as the first emperor of the Mongolian dynasty. But in Khan’s success, could he have ever
imagined that the furtherance of his empire would be thwarted by the power of typhoons?

The Mongolian empire extended from the eastern Korean peninsular to as far as the limits of Russia and
Poland. When Kublai came to power, he set his sights on conquering Japan as a useful addition to the
Mongol’s already far-reaching kingdom. Preparations for the invasion were made and in the autumn of 1274, a combined
army of 40,000 Mongolian and Korean soldiers set out for Japan.

One part of the army landed on Hakata Bay in Japan, which forced the Japanese defenders to retreat into
the country – an indication of just how strong the Mongolian force was in comparison to the Japanese
defence. However, the weather was about to turn the tables. Out of nowhere, a violent typhoon appeared
and wrecked more than two hundred of the Mongolian and Korean fleet, which forced the surviving
crew to abort the invasion and return home with many of their soldiers dead or swept away in the
powerful storm.

Despite this set-back, the Mongols started to prepare for a second invasion, not thinking that the weather
may prove yet again to be a violent adversary. The Japanese anticipated a second attack and started to
prepare by strengthening coastal fortifications, and erecting a huge stone wall around the bay in order to
stop Mongolian cavalry in their tracks. The Mongols created two armies that combined forces from all
over the empire, and amounted to 140,000 men.

They started a combined attack on the Japanese at Hakata Bay, and managed to get round the extensive coastal
fortifications. But before the attack went any further, another violent typhoon welled up and destroyed practically all of
the Mongolian invading fleet. Again, the Mongolians were forced to return home or be captured by the victorious
Japanese.

Their victory was important to Japan’s history, as it meant that they were isolated from China for a whole century. The
victory, aided by the typhoons, also created a great sense of unity throughout Japan, and the mystery of the presence of
typhoons at both invasions made them believe that they were a people who were divinely guarded. Japan may also have
been irreversibly altered if the Mongols had taken control, and certainly would not have allowed Japan to develop into
what it has become today.

But was the twice intervention of typhoons a mere coincidence or was there some form of divine intervention working on
the foreign affairs of the twelfth century?
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