Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/73

21 LINES

—Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands

Far from all human dwelling: what if here

No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb;

What if these barren boughs the bee not loves;

Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,

That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind

By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.

Who he was

That piled these stones, and with the mossy sod

First covered o'er and taught this aged tree

With its dark arms to form a circling bower,