I'm sorry for the Dead—Today

And Broad — Sunburned Acquaintance

Discourse between the Toil —

And laugh, a homely species

That makes the Fences smile —

It seems so straight to lie away

From all of the noise of Fields —

The Busy Carts — the fragrant Cocks —

The Mower's Metre — Steals —

A Trouble lest they're homesick —

Those Farmers — and their Wives —

Set separate from the Farming —

And all the Neighbors' lives —

A Wonder if the Sepulchre

Don't feel a lonesome way —

When Men — and Boys — and Carts — and June,

Go down the Fields to "Hay" —