Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/199

191 Feather, or leaf, or weed, or wither'd bough,

Each on the other heap'd along the line

Of the dry wreck. And in our vacant mood,

Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft

Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard,

Which, seeming lifeless half, and half impell'd

By some internal feeling, skimm'd along

Close to the surface of the lake that lay

Asleep in a dead calm, ran closely on

Along the dead calm lake, now here, now there,

In all its sportive wanderings all the while

Making report of an invisible breeze

That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse,

Its very playmate, and its moving soul.

——And often, trifling with a privilege

Alike, indulg'd to all, we paus'd, one now,

And now the other, to point out, perchance

To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair

Either to he divided from the place