Saturday, November 6, 2010

Classic Poetry ( Lucy Gray - William Wordsworth)

Portrait of William Wordsworth by Benjamin Robert Haydon

Lucy Gray

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;
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.”

“That, Father! will I gladly do:
'T is scarcely afternoon
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!”

At this the Father raised his hook,
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
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:
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.

At day-break 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,
“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;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!

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,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

        ~  William Wordsworth

(William Wordsworth 7 April 1770 - 23 April 1850)



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2 comments:

  1. Well Robert, I love the meter and the tale..as it is told, Lucy is a child of her time and William tells the story so well.. reminds me of the wind and storms when I was growing up and should you lose your way in a snow storm you knew you were done...hope to never be in one again...hope sweet Lucy was rescued by some nice people and lived happily ever after....bkm

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  2. William Wordsworth is my favourite poet, Robert.

    This is a beautiful poem. I'm biased of course.

    Have you read 'We Are Seven'?

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