Lucy

I travelled among unknown men,

In lands beyond the sea;

Nor, England, did I know 'til then

What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for I still seem

To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed

The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye

Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave and, oh,

The difference to me

A slumber did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears:

She seemed a thing that could not feel

The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;

She neither hears nor sees -

Rolled round in earth's diurnal course

With rocks, and stones, and trees.