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By w. wordsworth |
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I travelled among unknown men, |
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In lands beyond the sea; |
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Nor, england did i know till then |
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What love i bore to thee. |
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'tis past, that melancholy dream! |
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Nor will i quit thy shore |
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A second time; for still i seem |
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To love thee more and more. |
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Among thy mountains did i feel |
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The joy of my desire; |
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And she i cherished turned her wheel |
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Beside an english fire. |
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Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed, |
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The bowers where lucy played; |
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And thine too is the last green field |
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That lucy's eyes surveyed. |
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways |
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Beside the springs of dove, |
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A maid whom there were none to praise |
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And very few to love: |
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A violet by a mossy stone |
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Half hidden from the eye |
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-fair as a star, when only one |
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Is shining in the sky. |
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She lived unknown, and few could know |
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When lucy ceased to be; |
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But she is in her grave and, oh, |
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The difference to me |
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A slumber did my spirit seal; |
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I had no human fears; |
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She seemed a thing that could not feel |
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The touch of earthly years. |
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No motion has she now, no force; |
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She neither hears nor sees; |
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Rolled around in earth's diurnal course, |
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With rocks, and stones, and trees. |
