She dwelt among th’ untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise,
A very few to love.
A Violet by a mossy stone5
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;10
But she is in her Grave, and Oh!
The difference to me.