Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/367

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seems a day,

(I speak of one from many singled out)

One of those heavenly days which cannot die,

When forth I sallied from our Cottage-door ,

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,

A nutting-crook in hand, and turn'd my steps

Towards the distant woods, a Figure quaint,

Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds

Which for that service had been husbanded,

By exhortation of my frugal Dame.

Motley accoutrement of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,

More ragged than need was. Among the woods,

And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way