She walked with me yesterday

Guiding my plough

Straight from headland to headland….

Lament with me now.

My furrow twists like falsehood

The field’s length and breadth.

O straight is truth I cry out

But my cry is death—

She will not come again

My furrow to guide,

For I have sinned against Guidance

And my plough has lied.

She will not come again

Till my field is ploughed—

I have not gone humbly cheerful

With shoulders bowed.