THREE years she grew in sun and shower; |
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Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower |
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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. |
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"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, |
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Shall feel an overseeing power |
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To kindle or restrain. | |
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"She shall be sportive as the fawn |
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That wild with glee across the lawn |
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Or up the mountain springs; | |
And hers shall be the breathing balm, |
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And hers the silence and the calm |
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Of mute insensate things. |
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"The floating clouds their state shall lend |
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To her; for her the willow bend; | |
Nor shall she fail to see |
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Ev'n in the motions of the storm |
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Grace that shall mould the maiden's form |
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By silent sympathy. |
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"The stars of midnight shall be dear |
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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. | |
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"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." | |
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Thus Nature spake—the work was done— | |
How soon my Lucy's race was run! | |
She died, and left to me |
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This heath, this calm and quiet scene; |
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The memory of what has been, | |
And never more will be. |
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