The Lost Love


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!

William Wordsworth 1770-1850

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