Kubla Khan's Fast Thick Pants

Senior year of high school, we analyzed Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" in our English class, and our teacher told us how a few years prior a (male) student of hers had interpreted the poem as being about a vajayjay.

So.  Below I've copied the poem from here and highlighted it as (a literate) Beavis or Butthead (i.e., me) might (sorry if it's hard to read -- Blogger kinda sucks at these things).

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.

Conclusion: give me a break.  Like it isn't about a vajayjay.

P.S. Red equals yeowch, "huge fragments" equals cherry poppin', and dulcimers have hammers.