She dwelt among the untrodden ways

by 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!