Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/26

 In the Muse's paths I stray; Among their groves and by their sacred springs My haul delights to trace unusual things, And deviates from the known and common way: Nor will in fading skills compose, Faintly the inimitable rose, Fill up an ill-drawn bird, or paint on glass The treat'ning angel, and the speaking ass. ————Anne, Countess of Winchelsea.