  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 |
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