Lucy

	By w. wordsworth
	I travelled among unknown men,
	In lands beyond the sea;
	Nor, england did i know till then
	What love i bore to thee.
	'tis past, that 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 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 around in earth's diurnal course,
	With rocks, and stones, and trees.