Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti
William Wordsworth (17701850)Lucy Gray; or, Solitude
O
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
She dwelt on a wide moor,
—The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow.’
’Tis scarcely afternoon—
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!’
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work;—and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb,
But never reached the town.
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.
‘In heaven we all shall meet!’
—When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy’s feet.
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.