"THERE IS A LITTLE UNPRETENDING RILL"
This Rill trickles down the hill-side into Windermere, near
Lowwood. My sister and I, on our first visit together to this part
of the country, walked from Kendal, and we rested to refresh
ourselves by the side of the lake where the streamlet falls into
it. This sonnet was written some years after in recollection of
that happy ramble, that most happy day and hour.
THERE a little unpretending Rill
Of limpid water, humbler far than aught
That ever among Men or Naiads sought
Notice or name!--It quivers down the hill,
Furrowing its shallow way with dubious will;
Yet to my mind this scanty Stream is brought
Oftener than Ganges or the Nile; a thought
Of private recollection sweet and still!
Months perish with their moons; year treads on year!
But, faithful Emma! thou with me canst say
That, while ten thousand pleasures disappear,
And flies their memory fast almost as they;
The immortal Spirit of one happy day
Lingers beside that Rill, in vision clear.