Classicly

A cottage girl trips by with side-long look,

Steadying the little basket on her head;

And where a plank bridges the narrow brook

She stops, to see her fair form shadowèd.

The stream reflects her cloak of russet red;

Below she sees the trees and deep-blue sky,

The flowers which downward look in that clear bed,

The very birds which o’er its brightness fly:—

She parts her loose-blown hair, then wondering passes by.