She dwelt among the untrodden ways

    Besides the springs of Dove;

A maid whom there was none to praise

    And a 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 in her grave, and, oh,

    The difference to me!

A beautiful and simple poem with usage of everyday words and yet it compels us to be a part of the poet's grief and anguish.