Lucy

By William Wordsworth

I

Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover`s ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I loved look`d every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening moon.

Upon the moon I fix`d my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reach`d the orchard - plot;
And, as we climb`d the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy`s cot
Came near and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature`s gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopp`d:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropp`d.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a lover`s head!
`O mercy!` to myself I cried,
`If Lucy should be dead!`

II

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, O!
The difference to me!

III

I travell`d among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

`Tis past, the melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time, for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
And she I cherish`d turn`d her wheel
Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings show`d, thy nights conceal`d
The bowers where Lucy play`d;
And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy`s eyes survey`d.

IV

Three years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, `A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown:
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

`Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.

`She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs;
And her`s shall be the breathing balm,
And her`s the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

`The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see
E`en in the motions of the storm
Grace that shall mould the maiden`s form
By silent sympathy.

`The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

`And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
Where she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.`

Thus Nature spake - The work was done -
How soon my Lucy`s race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

V

A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seem`d a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Roll`d round in earth`s diurnal course
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
Inner Vision, The

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path there be or none
While a fair region round the Traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;

Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.

- If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way -

Whate`er the senses take or may refuse, -
The Mind`s internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.