William Wordsworth — Song She dwelt among th untrodden ways

She dwelt among th' 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 liv'd unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceas'd to be; But she is in her Grave, and Oh! The difference to me!