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!

Our walk up to Potter Tarn at the weekend provided us with the opportunity to see lots of beautiful flowers, birds and trees. I particularly enjoyed clusters of tiny violets sheltering amongst nooks and crannies and sheltered by stones and rocks. They made me think of Wordsworth's five Lucy poems.