WE maidens are older than most sheep, Though not so old as the rose-bush is; We are only as pretty as that. We are gay as the weather. Our minds are deep Like wells, as any boy tells By the blushes he dares not kiss. The hills are fond of our chat; We dance and shake like ringing bells, Till our hair tumbles out of our hoods. The boys are away in the woods, Hunting the boar or the bear. But joy is here as well as there; Pretend to fly Up into the sky, Jumping with both feet together, Holding out like wings Your sleeves and things. Feeling as light as a feather, Never wonder whether The day be long Or the night short, Since all our thought (Big as the song Of a brown fussy bee) But just fills the flower which we Each call "Me." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNDER A PATCHED SAIL by MARIANNE MOORE INTERIM by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS by JOHN JEROME ROONEY O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME by WALT WHITMAN THE ENGINE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON BESIDE THE SHORE ROAD by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |