Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/105

53 XXIII.

I cannot tell how this may be,

But plain it is, the thorn is bound

With heavy tufts of moss, that strive

To drag it to the ground.

And this I know, full many a time,

When she was on the mountain high,

By day, and in the silent night,

When all the stars shone clear and bright,

That I have heard her cry,

"Oh misery! oh misery!

"O woe is me! oh misery!"