'WHY do you stand in the dripping rye, Cold-lipped, unconscious, wet to the knee, When there are firesides near?' said I. 'I told him I wished him dead,' said she. 'Yea, cried it in my haste to one Whom I had loved, whom I well loved still; And die he did. And I hate the sun, And stand here lonely, aching, chill; 'Stand waiting, waiting under skies That blow reproach, the while I see The rooks sheer off to where he lies Wrapt in a peace withheld from me!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT by AMY LOWELL THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A RENUNCIATION by EDWARD DE VERE THE YANKEE PRIVATEER by ARTHUR HALE A TERNARIE OF LITTLES, UPON A PIPKIN OF JELLIE by ROBERT HERRICK ZOLA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |