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 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.


By mornings showed, by nights concealed
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eye 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 eyes.


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.