Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/203

195

Our walk was far among the ancient trees:

There was no road, nor any wood-man's path,

But the thick umbrage, checking the wild growth

Of weed and sapling, on the soft green turf

Beneath the branches of itself had made

A track which brought us to a slip of lawn,

And a small bed of water in the woods.

All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink

On its firm margin, even as from a well

Or some stone-bason which the Herdsman's hand

Had shap'd for their refreshment, nor did sun