I'm sorry for the Dead - Today -
It's such congenial times
Old Neighbors have at fences -
It's time o' year for Hay.

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" -