Lucy
By William Wordsworth
1. She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love;
2. A violet by a mossy stone,
Half hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky!
3. She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
From the painting by Jules Breton
The Song of the Lark