Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/83

31 All day she spun in her poor dwelling,

And then her three hours' work at night!

Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,

It would not pay for candle-light.

—This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,

Her hut was on a cold hill-side,

And in that country coals are dear,

For they come far by wind and tide.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,

Two poor old dames as I have known,

Will often live in one small cottage,

But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.

'Twas well enough when summer came,

The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,

Then at her door the canty dame

Would sit, as any linnet gay.