Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Pond

In this pond of placid water,
   Half a hundred years ago,
So they say, a farmer’s daughter,
   Jilted by her farmer beau,

Waded out among the rushes,
   Scattering the blue dragon-flies;
That dried stick the ripple washes
   Marks the spot, I should surmise.

Think, so near the public highway,
   Well frequented even then!
Can you not conceive the sly way,--
   Hearing wheels or seeing men

Passing on the road above,--
   With a gesture feigned and silly,
Ere she drowned herself for love,
   She would reach to pluck a lily?

1. When You, That at This Moment
2. Sometimes When I Am Wearied
3. I See So Clearly Now My Similar Years
4. Lord Archer, Death
5. She Filled Her Arms with Wood

Madison Cawein The Pond ("And I told the boy next door")

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