Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/646

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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

'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 While 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.
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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.

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