She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
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! - William Wordsworth
What a lovely tragic poem. The subject of death aside, I like how it captures the truth of how each person has rich value, just because we exist. Or did exist.
I hope you know the difference you make.
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