TO ONE LOVED WHOLLYWITHIN WISDOM
Someone will reap you like a field,Pile your gathered plunder,
Garner what you bring to yield,Turn your beauty under.
In cruel usages, in suchSickle-cutting, heaping,
Certain women toil too much,Weary of their reaping.
Someone else may winnow you;Someone else may plunder.
I have cut too many newSwathes, and broken under
Soil that should have fallow lainTo be greedy either
For the shattered stalk, the stainWhere the clusters wither.
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