WOMAN of the field,—by the sunset furrow, Lone-faring woman, woman at the plough, What of the harrow?—there so near their foreheads. Can there be harvest, now? "My one Belovéd sowed here his body; Under the furrows that open so red. All that come home now, have we for our children.— They will be wanting bread." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE RIGHT HON! WILLIAM EARL OF DARTMOUTH by PHILLIS WHEATLEY TIPPERARY: 5. BY OUR OWN EUGENE FIELD by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONG by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE POOR CHILD by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE GROUND-ROBIN by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON SUPPLICATION (1) by ALICE CARY THE COYOTE by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. THE MOSS SUPPLICATETH FOR THE POET by RICHARD HENRY DANA (1787-1879) |