What body can be ploughed, Sown, and broken yearly? But she would not die, she vowed, But she has, nearly. Sing, heart sing; Call and carol clearly. And, since she could not die, Care would be a feather, A film over the eye Of two that lie together. Fly, song, fly, Break your little tether. So from strength concealed She makes her pretty boast: Plain is a furrow healed And she may love you most. Cry, song, cry, And hear your crying lost. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONNET WRITTEN BY A NYMPH IN HER OWN BLOOD by CLAUDIO ACHILLINI EPIGAEA ASLEEP by WILLIAM WHITMAN BAILEY POLYHYMNIA: DEDICATION TO THE COUNTESS OF LINDSEY by WILLIAM BASSE SONG OF SOLOMON: AWAKE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IN THE HIGH HILLS by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |