Lucy

She dwelt among the untroden 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

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