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.

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 alone, 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.