Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/154

146 See! his spindles sink under him, foot, leg and thigh,

His eyesight and hearing are lost,

Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws,

And his two pretty pinions of blue dusky gauze

Are glued to his sides by the frost.

No Brother, no Friend has he near him, while I

Can draw warmth from the cheek of my Love,

As blest and as glad in this desolate gloom,

As if green summer grass were the floor of my room,

And woodbines were hanging above.

Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing,

Thy life I would gladly sustain

Till summer comes up from the South, and with crowds

Of thy brethren a march thou should'st sound through the clouds,

And back to the forests again.