<b>She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways</b> She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And v… - William Wordsworth

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love:

She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye; Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.

If I should be, where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence, wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; And that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came, Unwearied in that service: rather say With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Now wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves, and for thy sake.

A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.

If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness; that he who feels contempt For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used; that thought with him Is in its infancy. The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of Nature's works, one who might move The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, thou ! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.