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Thomas Hardy - The Woman In The Rye
Work rating: Low

`Why do you stand in the dripping rye,
Cold-lipped, unconscious, wet to the knee,
When there are firesides near?` said I.
`I told him I wished him dead,` said she.


`Yea, cried it in my haste to one
Whom I had loved, whom I well loved still;
And die he did. And I hate the sun,
And stand here lonely, aching, chill;


`Stand waiting, waiting under skies
That blow reproach, the while I see
The rooks sheer off to where he lies
Wrapt in a peace withheld from me.`
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