I heard a sickle rustling, A-rustling through the grain, I heard a maid lamenting, That she had lost her swain. "Dear, let it rustle, rustle! I heed not, how it goes: For I have won a lover, Where the green clover grows." "And hast thou won a lover, Where thyme and clover grow: Then I stand here so lonely, My heart is sore with woe!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: BEFORE AN EXAMINATION by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET MUSIC by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET UNTITLED, 1968; FOR MARK ROTHKO by JAMES GALVIN THE ORANGE PICKER by DAVID IGNATOW OWL AGAINST ROBIN by SIDNEY LANIER |