Menu
Friday, October 19, 2012

Bedide The Stile

Rating: 2.7
We both walked slowly o'er the yellow grass,
Beneath the sunset sky:
And then he climbed the stile I did not pass,
And there we said Good-bye.

He paused one moment, I leaned on the stile,
And faced the hazy lane:
But neither of us spoke until we both
Just said Good-bye again.

And I went homeward to our quaint old farm,
And he went on his way:
And he has never crossed that field again,
From that time to this day.

I wonder if he ever gives a thought
To what he left behind:—
As I start sometimes, dreaming that I hear
A footstep in the wind.

If he had said but one regretful word,
Or I had shed a tear,
He would not go alone about the world,
Nor I sit lonely here.

Alas! our hearts were full of angry pride,
And love was choked in strife:
And so the stile, beyond the yellow grass,
Stands straight across our life.
Isabella Fyvie Mayo
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

1/15/2021 9:20:50 AM # 1.0.0.396