Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/74

14 Or Solitude.

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;

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;

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

Your mother through the snow."