Though often by the second row
Her back was like to break,
That day she never felt the ache
Of stooping at the hoe:
For the one thought burning in her
Kept heart and body light—
He's meeting me at half-past six
At Turner's End to-night.

But, as she waited by the stack
Alone till after eight;
And knew he, who delayed so late,
Would never more come back,
The darkness brooding in her
Made heart and body sore
With thinking of the lonely row
She'd hoe for evermore.