William Wordsworth
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Besides 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 start, when only one
is shining in the sky
She lived unknown, and few could know
When lucky ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
dragthepen 