The Lost Love By William Wordsworth

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!

Comments are closed.