I'm sorry for the Dead—Today—

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" —