Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/64

38 The yellow stone-crop, suffered to take root

Along the window's edge, profusely grew,

Blinding the lower panes. I turned aside,

And strolled into her garden. It appeared

To lag behind the season, and had lost

Its pride of neatness. From the border lines

Composed of daisy and resplendent thrift,

Flowers straggling forth had on those paths encroached

Which they were used to deck:—Carnations, once

Prized for surpassing beauty, and no less

For the peculiar pains they had required,

Declined their languid heads—without support.

The cumbrous bind-weed, with its wreaths and bells,

Had twined about her two small rows of pease,

And dragged them to the earth.—Ere this an hour

Was wasted.—Back I turned my restless steps,

And, as I walked before the door, it chanced

A Stranger passed; and, guessing whom I sought,

He said that she was used to ramble far.—

The sun was sinking in the west; and now

I sate with sad impatience. From within

Her solitary Infant cried aloud;

Then, like a blast that dies away self-stilled,