When last I roved these winding wood-walks green,
        Green winding walks, and shady pathways sweet,
        Oft-times would Anna seek the silent scene,
        Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat. 
        No more I hear her footsteps in the shade: 
        Her image only in these pleasant ways
        Meets me self-wandering, where in happier days
        I held free converse with the fair-hair’d maid. 
        I passed the little cottage which she loved,
        The cottage which did once my all contain;
        It spake of days which ne’er must come again,
        Spake to my heart, and much my heart was moved. 
        “Now fair befall thee, gentle maid!” said I,
        And from the cottage turned me with a sigh.

        (1795 or 1796. Text of 1818)

        A timid grace sits trembling in her eye,
        As both to meet the rudeness of men’s sight,
        Yet shedding a delicious lunar light,
        That steeps in kind oblivious ecstasy
        The care-crazed mind, like some still melody: 
        Speaking most plain the thoughts which do possess
        Her gentle sprite:  peace, and meek quietness,
        And innocent loves, and maiden purity: 
        A look whereof might heal the cruel smart
        Of changed friends, or fortune’s wrongs unkind;
        Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the heart
        Of him who hates his brethren of mankind. 
        Turned are those lights from me, who fondly yet
        Past joys, vain loves, and buried hopes regret.

        (End of 1795.  Text of 1818)

        If from my lips some angry accents fell,
        Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind,
        ’Twas but the error of a sickly mind
        And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well,
        And waters clear, of Reason; and for me
        Let this my verse the poor atonement be—­
        My verse, which thou to praise wert ever inclined
        Too highly, and with a partial eye to see
        No blemish.  Thou to me didst ever shew
        Kindest affection; and would oft-times lend
        An ear to the desponding love-sick lay,
        Weeping my sorrows with me, who repay
        But ill the mighty debt of love I owe,
        Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend.

        (1795.  Text of 1818)

        We were two pretty babes, the youngest she,
        The youngest, and the loveliest far, I ween,
        And INNOCENCE her name.  The time has been,
        We two did love each other’s company;
        Time was, we two had wept to have been apart. 
        But when by show of seeming good beguil’d,
        I left the garb and manners of a child,
        And my first love for man’s society,
        Defiling with the world my virgin heart—­