Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/221

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morning (raw it was and wet,

A foggy day in winter time)

A Woman on the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime:

Majestic in her person, tall and straight;

And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient Spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there;

Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair:

She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;

I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke,

With the first word I had to spare

I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak