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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.
The Troubadour Podcast