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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - On A Ruined House In A Romantic Country
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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 noon
Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb`d harvest-moon!
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