At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, <br />Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years: <br />Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard <br />In the silence of morning the song of the Bird. <br /> <br />Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees <br />A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; <br />Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, <br />And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. <br /> <br />Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, <br />Down which she so often has tripped with her pail; <br />And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, <br />The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. <br /> <br />She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade, <br />The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: <br />The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, <br />And the colours have all passed away from her eyes!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-reverie-of-poor-susan-2/
