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； 10     But she is in her grave， and， oh，     The difference to me！