He past, a soul of nobler tone; My spirit loved and loves him yet, Like some poor girl whose heart is set On one whose rank exceeds her own. He mixing with his proper sphere, She finds the baseness of her lot, Half jealous of she knows not what, And envying all that meet him there. The little village looks forlorn; She sighs amid her narrow days, Moving about the household ways, In that dark house where she was born. The foolish neighbors come and go, And tease her till the day draws by; At night she weeps, 'How vain am I! How should he love a thing so low?' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KEATS TO FANNY BRAWNE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: GODWIN JAMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CLOTE (WATER-LILY) by WILLIAM BARNES THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE INNER VISION by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A SOLDIER'S GRAVE by JOHN ALBEE |