Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/95

87 Here, alone, before thine eyes,

Simon's sickly Daughter lies

From weakness, now, and pain defended,

Whom he twenty winters tended.

Look but at the gardener's pride,

How he glories, when he sees

Roses, lilies, side by side,

Violets in families.

By the heart of Man, his tears,

By his hopes and by his fears,

Thou, old Grey-beard! art the Warden

Of a far superior garden.

Thus then, each to other dear,

Let them all in quiet lie,

Andrew there and Susan here,

Neighbours in mortality.