The Woman at the Well
Grumly ploughed his field, she said,
Upon the threshold of day;
And the sun rose up in a cloud of fire
Over the hills away.
And two white doves came down, she said,
And bathed in the mearing spring,
And Grumly reined his horses in
To watch so strange a thing.
Grumly ploughed his field, she said,
Upon the heel of day;
And the sun sank down in a cloud of fire
Over the hills away.
And the two white doves came down, she said,
And bathed in the mearing spring;
And Grumly took a jack-stone up,
And did a murderous thing…
It is many a year ago, she said,
And Grumly's field is mine:
He ploughs the Meadow of the Dead
Where sun will never shine.
But still the water runs, she said,
And still the spring is blest;
And daylight whitens in the east
And reddens in the west.