She dwelt among the Untrodden Ways — 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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