"She Dwelt Among The Untrodden Ways"

(c. 1798-1800).

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!
(112)

from what is called Wordsworth's "Lucy poems"

Today I'm playing around with this as a possible opener in my chapter due by the end of March. I used part of it to start my second major field paper, and I'm just trying to cannibalize all I can, since I was encouraged to do so. (It's difficult though). Anyway, this haunting little poem has an image I love: "Fair as a star, when only one / Is shining in the sky." Personally, it conjures for me an image I connect with home, watching Venus come out before all the other stars, standing on the steps facing west, feeling the wind blow my hair away from my neck, maybe humming something as I took the clothes off the clothesline for the night.

Simply also, it makes me sad. I think of Lucy. Figment of Wordsworth's imagination or not, she seems worthy to be loved and known by many, but in the end very few of us are loved or known at all. The most we can really hope is to be loved and known by the people that matter most -- and make a difference to them.