Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/122

114 Among the fields she breath'd again:

The master-current of her brain

Ran permanent and free,

And to the pleasant Banks of Tone

She took her way, to dwell alone

Under the greenwood tree.

The engines of her grief, the tools

That shap'd her sorrow, rocks and pools,

And airs that gently stir

The vernal leaves, she loved them still,

Nor ever tax'd them with the ill

Which had been done to her.