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This is the 4th of the "Lucy" poems by William Wordsworth. In this one we get another poem about Wordsworth's view of death.

Wordsworth kicked off the English Romantic movement. He, like the romantics that proceeded him, was heavily focused on the internal world of humans. As the French Romanticist, Victor Hugo put it, "There is one thing grander than the sea, that is the sky; there is one thing grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul."
The lucy poems taken as a whole are very helpful in understanding how unique this viewpoint really is. Why do we have the thoughts in our heads that we do? Where do those thoughts come from? What associations do we make in moments of high passion and why those associations? And, most importantly, how does the external world affect our internal one?

If you have not listened to the other episodes, then listen to this one! I give a brief overview at the beginning of the key points.

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Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower

by William Wordsworth

Three years she grew in sun and shower,

Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower

On earth was never sown;

This Child I to myself will take;

She shall be mine, and I will make

A Lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be

Both law and impulse: and with me

The Girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,

Shall feel an overseeing power

To kindle or restrain.

"She shall be sportive as the fawn

That wild with glee across the lawn

Or up the mountain springs;

And hers shall be the breathing balm,

And hers the silence and the calm

Of mute insensate things.

"The floating clouds their state shall lend

To her; for her the willow bend;

Nor shall she fail to see

Even in the motions of the Storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form

By silent sympathy.

"The stars of midnight shall be dear

To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

"And vital feelings of delight

Shall rear her form to stately height,

Her virgin bosom swell;

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give

While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell."

Thus Nature spake—The work was done—

How soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;

The memory of what has been,

And never more will be.

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