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.   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 round in earth's diurnal course   With rocks, and stones, and trees.