LUCY. BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
Reading edition
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!