I met Louisa in the shade,
And, having seen that lovely Maid,
why should I fear to say
That, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong.
And down the rocks can leap along
Like rivulets in May?
And she hath smiles to earth unknown;
Smiles, that with motion of their own
Do spread, and sink, and rise;
that come and go with endless play,
And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.
She loves her fire, her cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And, when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.
Take all that's mine 'beneath the moon,'
If I with her but half a noon
May sit beneath the walls
Of some old cave, or mossy brook
To hunt the waterfalls.
William Wordsworth
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