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she moved, my lady, through the wood,

With lingering footfalls following her own thought

Which like a child at random, heeding naught,

Sped on before, one of a merry brood

As yet by Love untaught.

Upon the turf I lay in musing mood,

Pillowed by some gnarl-rooted forest tree,

And watched that vision passing silently

As in a dream, till all at once she stood

Struck still at sight of me.

Rh