A Maid whom there were none to praise
She dwelt among the Untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
She lived unknown, and few could know
And very few to love.
A violet by a mossy stone
—Fair, as a star when only one
Half-hidden from the Eye!
Is shining in the sky.
The difference to me!
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her Grave, and, oh,
