How oft I met the old hills'-man and his truck, Gleaning the refuse of that mountain-road! How oft he stopp'd to chat and bless his luck, Or talk how much to Providence he owed! Fresh was his fancy, and his heart was full; His long-plied shovel had its own romance For him, and every varying circumstance Of earth and sky forbad him to be dull: How oft he fish'd his treasure from the crest Of rain-fed gullies, hurrying to the west In the wild sunshine, when the storm went by, Or came on earlier fortunes, in the eye Of rosy morn, the roadster's first supply; Gay at all hours, and ever on the quest! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RUINES OF ROME by JOACHIM DU BELLAY HIS REQUEST TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK ROBERT E. LEE by JULIA WARD HOWE THE SHADED WATER by WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS SEASIDE SONG: 2 by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE HERON BALLADS: 1. FIRST BALLAD IN THROAT by ROBERT BURNS RAISING HUBBARD SQUASH IN VERMONT by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY |