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In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!

And all the while my eyes I kept

On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,

At once, the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide

Into a lover's head!

"Oh mercy!" to myself I cried,

"If Lucy should be dead!"

1799.

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She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!

1799.

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'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

1799.

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