At A Lonely Cross Where Bye-Roads Met I Sat Upon A Gate; I Saw The Sun Decline And Set, And Still Was Fain To Wait. A Trotting Boy Passed Up The Way And Roused Me From My Thought; I Called To Him, And Showed Where Lay A Spot I Shyly Sought. "A Summer-House Fair Stands Hidden Where You See The Moonlight Thrown; Go, Tell Me If Within It There A Lady Sits Alone." He Half Demurred, But Took The Track, And Silence Held The Scene; I Saw His Figure Rambling Back; I Asked Him If He Had Been. "I Went Just Where You Said, But Found No Summer-House Was There: Beyond The Slope 'Tis All Bare Ground; Nothing Stands Anywhere. "A Man Asked What My Brains Were Worth; The House, He Said, Grew Rotten, And Was Pulled Down Before My Birth, And Is Almost Forgotten!" My Right Mind Woke, And I Stood Dumb; Forty Years' Frost And Flower Had Fleeted Since I'd Used To Come To Meet Her In That Bower.