She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways

By William Wordsworth:

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
         Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
         And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
         Half hidden from the eye!
—Fair as a star, when only one
         Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
         When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
         The difference to me!
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