Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/66

14 I'll follow you across the snow,

You travel heavily and slow:

In spite of all my weary pain,

I'll look upon your tents again.

My fire is dead, and snowy white

The water which beside it stood;

The wolf has come to me to-night,

And he has stolen away my food.

For ever left alone am I,

Then wherefore should I fear to die?

My journey will be shortly run,

I shall not see another sun,

I cannot lift my limbs to know

If they have any life or no.

My poor forsaken child! if I

For once could have thee close to me,

With happy heart I then should die,

And my last thoughts would happy be.

I feel my body die away,

I shall not see another day.