Three Songs , opus 29

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!

Let other bards of angels sing,
Bright suns without a spot;
But thou art no such perfect thing:
Rejoice that thou art not!

Heed not tho' none should call thee fair;
So, Mary, let it be
If nought in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved
Till heart with heart in concord beats,
And the lover is beloved.

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear, 
Here's a health to one I lo'e dear,
Thou are sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet;
And soft as their parting tears.
Altho thou maun never be mine,
Altho even hope is denied,
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside, Jessie.

I mourn through the gay gaudy day
As hopeless I muse on thy charms,
But welcome the dream 'o sweet slumer, ane.
For then I am lockt in thy arms.
I guess by the dear angel smile
I guess by the loverolling e'e.
But why urge thetender confession,
'Gainst fortunes fell cruel decree, Jessie.