in the cool stream thy fingers wet, 75
As the punt's rope chops round;
And leaning backward in a pensive dream,
And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers
Pluck'd in shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers
And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream. 80

And then they land, and thou art seen no more!--
Maidens, who from the distant hamlets come;
To dance around the Fyfield elm in May, deg. deg.83
Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam
Or cross a stile into the public way.
Oft thou hast given them store 85
Of flowers--the frail-leaf'd, white anemony,
Dark bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves
And purple orchises with spotted leaves--
But none hath words she can report of thee. 90

And, above Godstow Bridge, deg. when hay-time's here
In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames,
Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass
Where black-wing'd swallows haunt the glittering Thames,
To bathe in the abandon'd lasher pass, deg. deg.95
Have often pass'd thee near
Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown;
Mark'd thine outlandish deg. garb, thy figure spare, deg.98
Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air--
But, when they came from bathing, thou wast gone! 100

At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills,
Where at her open door the housewife darns,
Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate
To watch the threshers in the mossy barns.
Children, who early range these slopes and late 105
For cresses from the rills,
Have known thee eying, all an April-day,
The springing pastures and the feeding kine;
And mark'd thee, when the stars come out and shine,
Through the long dewy grass move slow away. 110

In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood deg.-- deg.111
Where most the gipsies by the turf-edged way
Pitch their smoked tents, and every bush you see
With scarlet patches tagg'd deg. and shreds of grey, deg.114
Above the forest-ground called Thessaly deg.-- deg.115
The blackbird, picking food,
Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears at all;
So often has he known thee past him stray
Rap