.
.
Three years she grew in sun
and shower
Three years she
grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said,
«A lovelier flower
On earth was never
sown;
This Child I to
myself will take;
She shall be mine,
and I will make
A lady of my own.
Myself will to
my darling be
Both law and impulse:
and with me
The Girl, in rock
and plain,
In earth and heaven,
in glade and bower,
Shall feel an
overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
She shall be sportive
as the fawn
That wild with
glee across the lawn,
Or up the mountain
springs;
And hers shall
be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence
and the calm
Of mute insensate
things.
The floating clouds
their state shall lend
To her; for her
the willow bend;
Nor shall she
fail to see
Even in the motions
of the Storm
Grace that shall
mould the Maiden's form
By silent sympathy.
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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