O MILLER KNOX, whom we knew well, And the mill, and the floury floors, And the corn, -- and those two women, And infants -- yours! The sun was shining when you rode To market on that day: The sun was set when home-along You ambled in the gray, And gathered what had taken place While you were away. O Miller Knox, 'twas grief to see Your good wife hanging there By her own rash and passionate hand, In a throe of despair; And those two children, one by her, And one by the waiting-maid, Borne the same hour, and you afar, And she past aid. And though sometimes you walk of nights, Sleepless, to Yalbury Brow, And glance the graveyard way, and grunt, "'Twas not much, anyhow: She shouldn't ha' minded!" nought it helps To say that now. And the water dribbles down your wheel, Your mead blooms green and gold, And birds twit in your apple-boughs Just as of old. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: 11. THE BRACELET; UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESS'S CHAIN by JOHN DONNE UNMANIFEST DESTINY by RICHARD HOVEY ON ENGLISH MONSIEUR by BEN JONSON IN HONOR OF TAFFY TOPAZ by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY WHEN LET BY RAIN by EDWARD TAYLOR LINES COMPOSED AT GRASMERE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |