"Just a little while to wait," she said, "and I'll be back, Back to make your bed, trim the hearth and sweep the floor -- There's something I must run for till my breath goes slack, I must find one thing and I'll rest me evermore!" Out through the garden in a silver swirl of smoke, Her gold hair flying like the sun shining through -- What could I say? She was gone before I spoke; I cleaned the house myself, there was nothing else to do . . . April fluttered by on the wing of a swallow, June caught May in the echo of a tune, There were novel flowers to dazzle me, another gleam to follow, Lips framed in question like the crescent of the moon. So, I'll rake dead leaves up all through October, I'll shake the red rug out and I'll tidy up the hall; And I'll think this thing: "Be I drunk, be I sober, She may come again or stay away, I shall not care at all!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PURSUIT OF THE WORD by ROBERT FROST IN THE SUBWAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE FOREST MAID by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER by JOHN DONNE EPIGRAM: 45. ON MY FIRST SON by BEN JONSON WHY I WRITE NOT OF LOVE by BEN JONSON |