Two of the Lucy poems today. Partly because I think they’re lovely but also because I was rereading Barbara Pym’s A Glass of Blessings last week & Wilmet quotes the last lines of the second poem & reminded me of them. I’ll give them the numbers they have in my anthology but I’ve seen them numbered differently elsewhere.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seem’d a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Roll’d round in earth’s diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.