She Dwelt Among the Untrodden WaysShe 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!

But thou art with us, with us in the past,The present, with us in the times to come.There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair,No languor, no dejection, no dismay,No absence scarcely can there be, for thoseWho love as we do. Speed thee well!

What we have loved, others will love, and we will teach them how; instruct them how the mind of man becomes a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells...

Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

All things that love the sun are out of doors.

The unconquerable pang of despised love.

His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.

Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.