She might be gracing a corn-shuck feast, An apple-peeling; not in the least Does that interest her. By a creek she dwells, And down the creek is the sound of bells Where cattle pass to the county town. Everything else goes down the road: From the clinging porch of her log abode She sees the world of the hills go by, Riding, riding, from far or nigh Men on horses and men on mules The while she churns. There are farmer folk, And drovers, and men with the peddler's poke, And roving preachers from scope and glen, And raw fur buyers, and sheriff's men. She looks at them and then at the hills Where hen-hawks scream, and the hieroglyph Of naked cedars edges the cliff. Below it are ferny coves, and corn Slants dizzily down, and the fields are shorn Of their timothy by the questing kine. Beside the creek are a barn and shed, A sorghum patch and a ginseng bed; On the porch wall is a ground hog's hide; A wood fire burns on the hearth inside, A bean pot bubbles upon the crane -- A narrow stage. Yet the creek has a song, And men go riding its course along, And mules and horses, plashing the stream, Attune the song to the young girl's dream. Her lips are parted, her gray eyes shine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BATTLE SONG by EBENEZER ELLIOTT THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ANNE by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE A QUESTION by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE SONNET: TO J.M.K. by ALFRED TENNYSON EYE-SHAPED, MOUTH-SHAPED by MARGARET AHO |