While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal.
* * * * *
William Wordsworth.
Rink, Pretty Creature, Rink.
The dusk was falling fast, the lamps began to blink,
I heard a voice, it said, “Rink, pretty creature, rink.”
And looking o’er the edge, close by me I espied
A gentle youth on wheels, with a maiden at his side.
No other folk were near, and they were quite alone,