Friday, July 17, 2009
landscape with ruined house
And this reft house is that the which he built,Lamented Jack ! And here his malt he pil'd,Cautious in vain ! These rats that squeak so wild,Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade ?Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd ;And aye beside her stalks her amorous knight !Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white ;As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noonPeeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon !
Samuel Coleridge - On A Ruined house In A Romantic Country