The Lost Love

She dwelt among the 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 lived unknown, and few could know
            When Lucy ceased to be;
          But she is in her grave, and, oh,
            The difference to me!