Page:Peter Bell (Wordsworth).djvu/69

Part II. How blank!—but whence this rustling sound

Which, all too long, the pair hath chased!

—A dancing leaf is close behind,

Light plaything for the sportive wind

Upon that solitary waste.

When Peter spies the withered leaf,

It yields no cure to his distress—

"Where there is not a bush or tree,

"The very leaves they follow me—

"So huge hath been my wickedness!"

To a close lane they now are come,

Where, as before, the enduring Ass

Moves on without a moment's stop,

Nor once turns round his head to crop

A bramble leaf or blade of grass.