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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.
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