Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/86

78 Roll back, sweet rill! back to thy mountain bounds,

And there for ever be thy waters chain'd!

For thou dost haunt the air with sounds

That cannot be sustain'd;

If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough

Headlong yon waterfall must come,

Oh let it then be dumb!—

Be any thing, sweet rill, but that which thou art now.

Thou Eglantine whose arch so proudly towers

(Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale)

Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,

And stir not in the gale.

For thus to see thee nodding in the air,

To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,

Thus rise and thus descend,

Disturbs me, till the sight is more than I can bear.