She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways

She dwelt among the untrodden waysBeside the springs of Dove,A Maid whom there were none to praise,And very few to love.

A Violet by a mossy stoneHalf-hidden from the eye!—Fair as a star, when only oneIs shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could knowWhen Lucy ceased to be;But she is in her Grave, and, oh,The difference to me!