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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.

Added: 25 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 3 Sep 2026 6:59 AM | Viewed: 5704 times

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