For oft there sits, between the heap
That's like an infant's grave in size,
And that same pond of which I spoke,
A woman in a cloak,
And to herself she cries,
"Oh misery!
That's like an infant's grave in size,
And that same pond of which I spoke,
A woman in a cloak,
And to herself she cries,
"Oh misery!
Coleridge - Lyrical Ballads
