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Praises Of Rural Life Post by :apondonet Category :Poems Author :Sarah S. Mower Date :November 2011 Read :2839

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Praises Of Rural Life

Though city ladies treat with scorn
The humble farmer's wife,
And call his daughters rude and coarse,
I'll live a country life.

I'd rather spin, and weave, and knit,
And wholesome meals prepare,
Than, dressed in silk, with servants throng'd,
Lounge in my cushioned chair.

I love to see my chickens grow,
My turkies, ducks, and geese;
I love to tend my flowering plants,
And make the new milk cheese.

I love to wash, I love to sew,
All needful work I like to do;
I like to keep my kitchen neat,
And humble parlor, too.

And when the grateful task is done,
And pleasure claims a share,
With some dear friend I'll walk abroad
And take the balmy air.

Not through the dusty, crowded streets,
Amid the bustling throng,
But in some pleasant cool retreat,
We'll hear the woodland song.

Or trace the winding silver stream,
And linger on its banks,
While all the birds in concert sweet,
Present their evening thanks.

We'll seek the ancient forest shade,
And see its branches wave,
Which have, perchance, a requiem sang
Above the red man's grave.

We'll breathe the pure untainted air,
Fresh from the verdant hills;
And pluck wild blossoms from their beds
Beside the laughing rills.

I love the country in the spring,
With all its waving trees;
When songs of joy from every grove
Are wafted on the breeze.

The smiling pastures robed in green,
How beautiful, and gay;
With bleating flocks, and lowing herds,
And little lambs at play.

I love midst rural scenes to dwell,
In summer's pleasant hours;
And pluck her sweet delicious fruits,
And smell her fragrant flowers.

I love to see the growing corn,
And fields of waving grain;
I love the sunshine, and the shade.
And gentle showers of rain.

I love to see the glitt'ring dew,
Like pendant diamonds, hung
On ev'ry plant, and flower, and tree,
Their glossy leaves among.

I love the joyful harvest months;
When smiling on the plain,
We see rich golden ears of corn,
And bending sheaves of grain.

I love to see the cellar filled
With sauce of various kinds,
Potatoes, beets and onions too,
And squashes from the vines.

I love to see the well filled barn,
And smell the fragrant hay;
I'll milk while brother feeds the lambs,
And see them skip and play.

I love to rise before the sun,
And see his rosy beams
Shine glim'ring through the waving trees,
In quiv'ring fitful gleams.

I love, when nothing intervenes.
The setting sun to spy,
Tinging the clouds with every hue,
Which charms the gazing eye.

I love the country every where,
Here let me spend my life;
No higher shall my thoughts aspire--
I'd be a farmer's wife.(1)

(Footnote 1: "Good, Sarah, that's right! If we can find one that
worthy of you, we will send him along."--Editor.)

(The end)
Sarah S. Mower's poem: Praises Of Rural Life

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Ode To Sarah Ode To Sarah

Ode To Sarah
Ode to Sarah.(1)Rural maid, who, o'er glade, Forest, plain, and mountain, roam In joy and peace, and made Happy by the brook's gay foam; Who art content to live In the farmer's domicil; A listening ear give To a stranger, who, with quill In hand, sits down to write An epistle, or letter, To one, of whom it might Be said, she's far his better.

Music Of The Mind Music Of The Mind

Music Of The Mind
What is music of the mind? Is it the soft harmonious strains of the little minstrel which often steals into some secret nook within the heart, and there tunes her silent harp to notes of sweetest melody? Though we never hear her melting lays, yet persons in every station, from the king upon his throne to the beggar by the wayside, and the rude untutored savage roaming through his native forest, often experience that exquisite pleasure produced by her magic spell. We are continually surrounded by scenes calculated to produce this music. The variegated scenery of different landscapes; the changing seasons