The Lucy Poems By William Wordsworth

Strange fits of passion have I known:
__And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover’s ear alone,
__What once to me befell.

When she I loved look’d every day
__Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
__Beneath an evening moon.

Upon the moon I fix’d my eye,
__All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
__Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reach’d the orchard-plot;
__And, as we climb’d the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy’s cot
__Came near and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
__Kind Nature’s gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
__On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
__He raised, and never stopp’d:
When down behind the cottage roof,
__At once, the bright moon dropp’d.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
__Into a lover’s head!
‘O mercy!’ to myself I cried,
__‘If Lucy should be dead!’

― By William Wordsworth