I heard a sickle rustling, A-rustling through the grain, I heard a maid lamenting, That she had lost her swain. "Dear, let it rustle, rustle! I heed not, how it goes: For I have won a lover, Where the green clover grows." "And hast thou won a lover, Where thyme and clover grow: Then I stand here so lonely, My heart is sore with woe!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RAHEL TO VARNHAGEN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON NAPOLEON by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THIRTEEN AT TABLE by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER TO VENETIAN ARTISTS by WILLIAM BLAKE EPITAPH ON MR. JOHN DEANE, OF NEW COLLEGE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |