She dwelt among the untrodden ways
 Beside the springs of Dove,
Maid whom there were none to praise
 And very few to love:

A violet by a mosy tone
 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!