This maiden she is dead, is dead, while love was fresh and new. They laid her in the earth, the earth, before the night was through. They bedded her alone, alone, wrapped in a bride's array. They bedded her alone, alone, low-coffined in the clay. They left her merrily, merrily, when dawn made bright the way. A-singing merrily, merrily. "Each in his turn," sang they. "This maiden she is dead, is dead, while love was fresh and new." They went to till the fields, the fields, as every day they do. . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL A CLEVER WOMAN by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE SUMMER IS ENDED (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI BIFTEK AUX CHAMPIGNONS by HENRY AUGUSTIN BEERS LADY WITH A CAREER by NORMA JEAN BUNTING |