STRANGE fits of passion have I known: <br /> And I will dare to tell, <br />But in the lover's ear alone, <br /> What once to me befell. <br /> <br />When she I loved look'd every day <br /> Fresh as a rose in June, <br />I to her cottage bent my way, <br /> Beneath an evening moon. <br /> <br />Upon the moon I fix'd my eye, <br />All over the wide lea; <br />With quickening pace my horse drew nigh <br />Those paths so dear to me. <br /> <br />And now we reach'd the orchard-plot; <br />And, as we climb'd the hill, <br />The sinking moon to Lucy's cot <br />Came near and nearer still. <br /> <br />In one of those sweet dreams I slept, <br />Kind Nature's gentlest boon! <br />And all the while my eyes I kept <br />On the descending moon. <br /> <br />My horse moved on; hoof after hoof <br />He raised, and never stopp'd: <br />When down behind the cottage roof, <br />At once, the bright moon dropp'd. <br /> <br />What fond and wayward thoughts will slide <br />Into a lover's head! <br />'O mercy!' to myself I cried, <br />'If Lucy should be dead!'<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lucy-i/
