Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/275

267 Is not for me to tell; but sure I am

That there was a loud uproar in the hills:

And, while we both were listening, to my side

The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished

To shelter from some object of her fear.

—And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons

Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone

Beneath this rock, at sun-rise, on a calm

And silent morning, I sat down, and there,

In memory of affections old and true,

I chisseled out in those rude characters

Joanna's name upon the living stone.

And I, and all who dwell by my fire-side,

Have called the lovely rock, ."