'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 LITTLE GIRL FOUND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE ENGLISHMAN IN ITALY by ROBERT BROWNING ON THE SITE OF A MULBERRY-TREE PLANTED BY SHAKESPEARE ... by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): THE MEETING by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS by JAMES BEATTIE LOVE IN ARMOR by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |