Sonnet - On A Ruined House In A Romantic Country - By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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!

1797.