There is a willow grows aslant a brook that shows his pale leaves in the glassy stream,
There with fantastic garlands did she come of crow flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds clambering to hang an envious sliver broke, and down her weedy trophies and herself fell in the weeping brook.
Her clothes spread wide, and mermaid-like a while they bore her up which time she chanted snatches of old tunes, as one insensible of her own distress or like a creature native and inured unto that element.
But long it cloud not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death.
HD
