SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS
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!
William Wordsworth
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