The Lost Love
William Wordsworth, 1807

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 O!
       The difference to me!