Poetry Archives

It was no sooner than this morn
   That first I found you there,
Deep in a field of southern corn
   As golden as your hair.

I had read books you had not read,
   Yet I was put to shame
To hear the simple words you said,
   And see your eyes aflame.

Shall I forget when prying dawn
   Sends me about my way,
The careless stars, the quiet lawn,
   And you with whom I lay?

Your’s is the beauty of the moon,
   The wisdom of the sea,
Since first you tasted, sweet and soon,
   Of God’s forbidden tree.

Darling, a scholar’s fancies sink
   So faint beneath your song;
And you are right, why should we think,
   We who are young and strong?

For we are simple, you and I,
   We do what others do,
Linger and toil and laugh and die
   And love the whole night through.