Under a daisied bank br There stands a rich red ruminating cow, br    And hard against her flank br A cotton-hooded milkmaid bends her brow. br br    The flowery river-ooze br Upheaves and falls; the milk purrs in the pail; br    Few pilgrims but would choose br The peace of such a life in such a vale. br br    The maid breathes words--to vent, br It seems, her sense of Nature's scenery, br    Of whose life, sentiment, br And essence, very part itself is she. br br    She bends a glance of pain, br And, at a moment, lets escape a tear; br    Is it that passing train, br Whose alien whirr offends her country ear? - br br    Nay! Phyllis does not dwell br On visual and familiar things like these; br    What moves her is the spell br Of inner themes and inner poetries: br br    Could but by Sunday morn br Her gay new gown come, meads might dry to dun, br    Trains shriek till ears were torn, br If Fred would not prefer that Other One.