Song

Song

She dwelt among th' 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 _liv'd_ unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceas'd to be;
But she is in her Grave, and Oh!
The difference to me.

-THE END-
William Wordsworth's poem: Song

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