A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r,
The grey sand dancing in its bed,
Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,
Sent forth its waters near my head:
A rosy Lass approach'd my view;
I caught her blue eye's modest beam:
The stranger nodded 'How d'ye do!'
And leap'd across the infant stream. (Robert Bloomfield)

A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r, The grey sand dancing in its bed, Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower, Sent forth its waters near my head: A rosy Lass approach'd my view; I caught her blue eye's modest beam: The stranger nodded 'How d'ye do!' And leap'd across the infant stream.

Robert Bloomfield

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across beam bed catch dancing forth grey hawthorn head infant lass near sand sent spring stranger stream view

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