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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420568" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Maud Muller</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maud Muller on a summer's day <br>Raked the meadow sweet with hay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth <br>Of simple beauty and rustic health. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleee <br>The mock-bird echoed from his tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when she glanced to the far-off town <br>White from its hill-slope looking down, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sweet song died, and a vague unrest <br>And a nameless longing filled her breast,- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wish that she hardly dared to own, <br>For something better than she had known. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Judge rode slowly down the lane, <br>Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He drew his bridle in the shade <br>Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And asked a draught from the spring that flowed <br>Through the meadow across the road. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, <br>And filled for him her small tin cup, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And blushed as she gave it, looking down <br>On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Thanks!&quot; said the Judge; &quot;a sweeter draught <br>From a fairer hand was never quaffed.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, <br>Of the singing birds and the humming bees; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether <br>The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown <br>And her graceful ankles bare and brown; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And listened, while a pleased surprise <br>Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last, like one who for delay <br>Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maud Muller looked and sighed: &quot;Ah me! <br>That I the Judge's bride might be! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;He would dress me up in silks so fine, <br>And praise and toast me at his wine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;My father should wear a broadcloth coat; <br>My brother should sail a pointed boat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, <br>And the baby should have a new toy each day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, <br>And all should bless me who left our door.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, <br>And saw Maud Muller standing still. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;A form more fair, a face more sweet, <br>Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;And her modest answer and graceful air <br>Show her wise and good as she is fair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Would she were mine, and I to-day, <br>Like her, a harvester of hay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, <br>Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;But low of cattle and song of birds, <br>And health and quiet and loving words.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, <br>And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, <br>And Maud was left in the field alone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, <br>When he hummed in court an old love-tune; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the young girl mused beside the well <br>Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He wedded a wife of richest dower, <br>Who lived for fashion, as he for power. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, <br>He watched a picture come and go; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes <br>Looked out in their innocent surprise. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, <br>He longed for the wayside well instead; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms <br>To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the proud man sighed, and with a secret pain, <br>&quot;Ah, that I were free again! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Free as when I rode that day, <br>Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She wedded a man unlearned and poor, <br>And many children played round her door. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, <br>Left their traces on heart and brain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And oft, when the summer sun shone hot <br>On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And she heard the little spring brook fall <br>Over the roadside, through a wall, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the shade of the apple-tree again <br>She saw a rider draw his rein; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, gazing down with timid grace, <br>She felt his pleased eyes read her face. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls <br>Stretched away into stately halls; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The weary wheel to a spinet turned, <br>The tallow candle an astral burned, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And for him who sat by the chimney lug, <br>Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A manly form at her side she saw, <br>And joy was duty and love was law. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then she took up her burden of life again, <br>Saying only, &quot;It might have been.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas for the maiden, alas for the Judge, <br>For rich repiner and househole drudge! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">God pity them both and pity us all, <br>Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For of all sad words of tongue or pen, <br>The saddest are these: &quot;It might have been!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies <br>Deeply buried from human eyes; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, in the hereafter, angels may <br>Roll the stone from its grave away!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420568" data-title="Maud Muller de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Maud Muller on a summer's day 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But when she glanced t..."></div>
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