WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray; And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew; 5 She dwelt on a wide moor,— The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; 10 But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. "To-night will be a stormy night— You to the town must go: And take a lantern, child, to light 15 Your mother through the snow." "That, father, will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon— The minster-clock has just struck two; And yonder is the moon." At this the father raised his hook, 5 And snapped a fagot-band; He plied his work;—and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke 10 Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time, She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb, 15 But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. 20 At daybreak on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. They wept—and, turning homeward, cried, 5 "In heaven we all shall meet!" When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; 10 And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the low stone wall: And then an open field they crossed; The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; 15 And to the bridge they came. They follow from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none! 20 —Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along. 5 And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.