Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair;
While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew,
While boatmen carolled to the fresh-blown air,
And woods a horizontal shadow threw,
And early fox appeared in momentary view.
IX.
Apart there was a deep untrodden grot,
Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore.
Tradition had not named its lonely spot;
But here (methinks) might India’s sons explore