She dwelt among the untrodden ways  

Besides the spring 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!  

…..  

Episode: https://robertwalker.blog/pod11