Page:Peter Bell (Wordsworth).djvu/17



something in a flying horse,

And something in a huge balloon;

But through the clouds I'll never float

Until I have a little Boat,

Whose shape is like the crescent-moon.

And now I have a little Boat,

In shape a very crescent-moon:—

Fast through the clouds my Boat can sail

But if perchance your faith should fail,

Look up—and you shall see me soon!