I'm sorry for the Dead - Today - It's such congenial times Old Neighbors have at fences - It's time o' year for Hay. And Broad - Sunburned Acquaintance Discourse between the Toil - And laugh, a homely species That makes the Fences smile - It seems so straight to lie away From all of the noise of Fields - The Busy Carts - the fragrant Cocks - The Mower's Metre - Steals - A Trouble lest they're homesick - Those Farmers - and their Wives - Set separate from the Farming - And all the Neighbors' lives - A Wonder if the Sepulchre Don't feel a lonesome way - When Men - and Boys - and Carts - and June, Go down the Fields to "Hay" I'm thinking of that other morn, When Cerements let go, And Creatures clad in Victory Go up in two by two! |