THE farm-lad quarried from the mow The golden bundles, hastily, And, giving oxen, colt, and cow Their separate portions, he was free. Then, emptying all the sweet delight Of his young heart into his eyes, As if he might not go that night, He lingered, looking at the skies. The evening's silver plough had gone Through twilight's bank of yellow haze, And turned two little stars thereon -- Still artfully he stayed to praise The hedge-row's bloom -- the trickling run -- The crooked lane, and valley low -- Each pleasant walk, indeed, save one, And that the way he meant to go! In truth, for Nature's simple shows He had no thoughts that night, to spare, In vain to please his eyes, the rose Climbed redly out upon the air. The bean-flower, in her white attire Displayed in vain her modest charms, And apple-blossoms, all on fire, Fell uninvited in his arms. When Annie raked the summer hay Last year, a little thorn he drew Out of her white hand, such a way, It pierced his heart all through and through. Poor farmer-lad! could he that night Have seen how fortune's leaves were writ, His eyes had emptied all their light Back to his heart, and broken it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS ON A THEME: ROMANCE by EDITH SITWELL HIS OWNE EPITAPH by FRANCOIS VILLON THE SHIPS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE INCURABLE; A SONG by PHILIP AYRES MOON RIDER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 119 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |