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 Ac-
quaintance
Discourse between the Toil –
And laugh, a homely species
That makes the Fences smile –

 

It seems so straight to lie
away
From all 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 Neighbor′s lives –

 

A Wonder if the Sepulchre
Dont feel a lonesome way –
When Men – and Boys – and
⁺Carts – and June,
Go down the Fields to ′′Hay′′ –

 

+ Way  + Sound  +  Put quiet –
+ Larks –