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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
In this pond of placid water,
\nHalf a hundred years ago,
\nSo they say, a farmer\u2019s daughter,
\nJilted by her farmer beau,<\/p>\n
Waded out among the rushes,
\nScattering the blue dragon-flies;
\nThat dried stick the ripple washes
\nMarks the spot, I should surmise.<\/p>\n
Think, so near the public highway,
\nWell frequented even then!
\nCan you not conceive the sly way,\u2014
\nHearing wheels or seeing men<\/p>\n
Passing on the road above,\u2014
\nWith a gesture feigned and silly,
\nEre she drowned herself for love,
\nShe would reach to pluck a lily?<\/p>\n
Edna St. Vincent Millay<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In this pond of placid water, Half a hundred years ago, So they say, a farmer\u2019s 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 … <\/p>\n