Intent upon her destined course; William Cowper THE HREE years she grew in sun and shower; On earth was never sown: This child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. "Myself will to my darling be In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, To kindle or restrain. "She shall be sportive as the fawn Or up the mountain springs; And hers the silence and the calm, Of mute insensate things. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mold the maiden's form By silent sympathy. 105 "The stars of midnight shall be dear Where rivulets dance their wayward round, Shall pass into her face. "And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake. The work was done,— She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. William Wordsworth THE SOLITARY REAPER BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; 106 No nightingale did ever chaunt A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard Will no one tell me what she sings? Or is it some more humble lay, Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang William Wordsworth RUTH HE stood breast high amid the corn, SHE Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun On her cheek an autumn flush Deeply ripened:--such a blush Round her eyes her tresses fell, And her hat, with shady brim, Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean Thomas Hood 107 T TO PERDITA, SINGING1 HY voice is like a fountain, Leaping up in clear moonshine; Silver, silver, ever mounting, Ever sinking, Without thinking, To that brimful heart of thine. Thou hast had in bygone years, 1 Only the first strophes of the poem are given. Four lines of the second strophe are used by W. H. Hudson in describing the note of a South American thrush. See Prose, pp. 111f. 108 Through thy lips comes stealing, stealing, All thy smiles and all thy tears And sweetness, wove of joy and woe, It hath caught a touch of sadness, It hath tones of clearest gladness, A dim, sweet twilight voice it is Thy voice is like a fountain, James Russell Lowell HE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight: A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; |