I WAS only eight years old; And before I grew up and knew what it meant I had no words for it, except That I was frightened and told my Mother; And that my Father got a pistol And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy, Fifteen years old, except for his Mother. Nevertheless the story clung to me. But the man who married me, a widower of thirty-five, Was a newcomer and never heard it Till two years after we were married. Then he considered himself cheated, And the village agreed that I was not really a virgin. Well, he deserted me, and I died The following winter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: WHY by EDITH SITWELL THE ANGLER'S SONG by WILLIAM BASSE VISIONS: 5 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE SEEDLING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE MOURNING-GARMENT: THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG by ROBERT GREENE TWO POEMS TO HANS THOMA ON HIS SIXIETH BIRTHDAY: 1. MOONLIGHT NIGHT by RAINER MARIA RILKE |