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!