Explore "The Pond" by Edna St. Vincent Millay on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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?