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What cause have I to haunt
My heart with terrors? Am I not
The Spring for me a garland weaves
This plant can never die.
The butterfly, all green and gold,
To me hath often flown,
Here in my Blossoms to behold
Wings lovely as his own.
When grass is chill with rain or dew,
The love, they to each other make,
Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued
Her speech, until the stars of night
Their journey had renew'd.
But in the branches of the Oak
Two Ravens now began to croak
One night the Wind came from the North
And blew a furious blast,
At break of day I ventur❜d forth
And near the Cliff I pass'd.
The storm had fall'n upon the Oak
And struck him with a mighty stroke,
And whirl'd and whirl'd him far away;
And in one hospitable Cleft
The little careless Broom was left
To live for many a day.
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray,
I chanc'd to see at break of day
No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
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,
And take a lantern, Child, to light
"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 rais'd his hook
And snapp'd a faggot-band;
He plied his work, and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe,
Her feet disperse the powd'ry snow
The storm came on before its time,
And many a hill did Lucy climb
But never reach'd 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 overlook'd the Moor;
And thence they saw the Bridge of Wood
A furlong from their door.
And now they homeward turn'd, and cry'd
"In Heaven we all shall meet !
When in the snow the Mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.