En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Mowing

The clock has struck six,
And the morning is fair,
While the east in red splendor is glowing;
There’s a dew on the grass, and a song in the air—
Let us up and be off to the mowing.

Wouldst know why I wait
Ere the sunlight has crept
O’er the fields where the daisies are growing?
Why all night I’ve kept my own vigils, nor slept?
’Tis to-day is the day of the mowing.

This day and this hour
Maud has promised to tell
What the blush on her cheek was half showing.
If she waits at the lane, I’m to know all is well,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.

Maud’s mother has said,
And I’ll never deny,
That a girl’s heart there can be no knowing.
Oh, I care not to live, and I rather would die,
If Maud does not come to the mowing.

What is it I see?
’Tis a sheen of brown hair
In the lane where the poppies are blowing.
Thank God! it is Maud—she is waiting me there,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.

Six years have passed by,
And I freely declare
That I scarcely have noticed their going;
Sweet Maud is my wife, with her sheen of brown hair,
And we had a good time at the mowing.

poem by Samuel Hawkins Marshall Byers from Harper's, Volume 59, Issue 350 (1879)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Night Before The Mowing

ALL shimmering in the morning shine
And diamonded with dew,
And quivering in the scented wind
That thrills its green heart through,--
The little field, the smiling field,
With all its flowers a-blowing,
How happy looks the golden field
The day before the mowing!

All still 'neath the departing light,
Twilight, though void of stars,
Save where, low westering, Venus hides
From the red eye of Mars;
How quiet lies the silent field
With all its beauties glowing;
Just stirring,--like a child asleep,--
The night before the mowing.
Sharp steel, inevitable hand,
Cut keen, cut kind! Our field
We know full well must be laid low
Before its wealth it yield:
Labor and mirth and plenty blest
Its blameless death bestowing:
And yet we weep, and yet we weep,
The night before the mowing.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prelude

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're going
Or which way the wind is blowing
Is it raining? is it snowing
Is a hurricane a-blowing
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Oh, the fires of hell are glowing
Is the grisly reaper mowing
Yes! the danger must be growing
For the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing!
Stop the boat!

song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Youth Mowing

There are four men mowing down by the Isar;
I can hear the swish of the scythe-strokes, four
Sharp breaths taken: yea, and I
Am sorry for what's in store.

The first man out of the four that's mowing
Is mine, I claim him once and for all;
Though it's sorry I am, on his young feet, knowing
None of the trouble he's led to stall.

As he sees me bringing the dinner, he lifts
His head as proud as a deer that looks
Shoulder-deep out of the corn; and wipes
His scythe-blade bright, unhooks

The scythe-stone and over the stubble to me.
Lad, thou hast gotten a child in me,
Laddie, a man thou'lt ha'e to be,
Yea, though I'm sorry for thee.

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Sadie and Maud

Maud went to college.
Sadie stayed home.
Sadie scraped life
With a fine toothed comb.

She didn't leave a tangle in
Her comb found every strand.
Sadie was one of the livingest chicks
In all the land.

Sadie bore two babies
Under her maiden name.
Maud and Ma and Papa
Nearly died of shame.

When Sadie said her last so-long
Her girls struck out from home.
(Sadie left as heritage
Her fine-toothed comb.)

Maud, who went to college,
Is a thin brown mouse.
She is living all alone
In this old house.

poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Know What I Like

It's one o'clock and time for lunch,
When the sun beats down and i lie on the bench
I can always hear them talk.
There's always been ethel:
"jacob, wake up! you've got to tidy your room now."
And then mister lewis:
"isn't it time that he was out on his own?"
Over the garden wall, two little lovebirds - cuckoo to you!
Keep them mowing blades sharp...
I know what i like, and i like what i know;
Getting better in your wardrobe, stepping one beyond your show.
Sunday night, mr farmer called, said:
"listen son, you're wasting your time; there's a future for you
In the fire escape trade. come up to town!"
But i remebered a voice from the past;
"gambling only pays when you're winning"
- i had to thank old miss mort for schooling a failure.
Keep them mowing blades sharp...
I know what i like, and i like what i know;
Getting better in your wardrobe, stepping one beyond your show.
When the sun beats down and i lie on the bench,
I can always hear them talk.
Me, i'm just a lawnmower - you can tell me by the way i walk.

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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and Lethewards have sunk

Plastic patterns swiftly flowing
gladly lend impressions glowing
sometimes faster, sometimes slowing,
constant keeping - not all knowing.
Thus mind radar to and froing -
whirlwind nature, blowing, blowing,
Cupid with his darts arrowing,
and acrostics all a-rowing, -
seeks to answer questions sowing
further questions Time a-mowing
soon forgets, leaves little showing.

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Rowing Song

Round the world and home again
That's the sailor's way
Faster faster, faster faster

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing

Is it raining, is it snowing
Is a hurricane a–blowing

Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of Hell a–glowing
Is the grisly reaper mowing

Yes, the danger must be growing
For the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing.

poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Daisies

In the great green park with the wooden palings -
The wooden palings so hard to climb,
There are fern and foxglove, primrose and violet,
And green things growing all the time;
And out in the open the daisies grow,
Pretty and proud in their proper places,
Millions of white-frilled daisy faces,
Millions and millions--not one or two.
And they call to the bluebells down in the wood:
'Are you out--are you in? We have been so good
All the school-time winter through,
But now it's playtime,
The gay time, the May time;
We are out and at play. Where are you?'

In the gritty garden inside the railings,
The spiky railings all painted green,
There are neat little beds of geraniums and fuchsia
With never a happy weed between.
There's a neat little grass plot, bald in places,
And very dusty to touch;
A respectable man comes once a week
To keep the garden weeded and swept,
To keep it as we don't want it kept.
He cuts the grass with his mowing-machine,
And we think he cuts it too much.
But even on the lawn, all dry and gritty,
The daisies play about.
They are so brave as well as so pretty,
You cannot keep them out.
I love them, I want to let them grow,
But that respectable man says no.
He cuts off their heads with his mowing-machine
Like the French Revolution guillotine.
He sweeps up the poor little pretty faces,
The dear little white-frilled daisy faces;
Says things must be kept in their proper places
He has no frill round his ugly face -
I wish I could find his proper place!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Maud Muller Mutatur

In 1909 toilet goods were not considered a serious matter and no special department of the catalogs were devoted to it. A few perfumes and creams were scattered here and there among bargain goods.

In 1919 an assortment of perfumes that would rival any city department store is shown, along with six pages of other toilet articles, including rouge and eyebrow pencils.

--From "How the Farmer Has Changed in a Decade: Toilet Goods," in Farm and Fireside's advertisement.

Maud Muller, on a summer's day,
Powdered her nose with Bon Sachet.

Beneath her lingerie hat appeared
Eyebrows and cheeks that were well veneered.

Singing she rocked on the front piazz,
To the tune of "The Land of the Sky Blue Jazz."

But the song expired on the summer air,
And she said, "This won't get me anywhere."

The Judge in his car looked up at her
And signalled "Stop!" to his brave chauffeur.

He smiled a smile that is known as broad,
And he said to Miss Muller, "Hello, how's Maud?"

"What sultry weather is this? Gee whiz!"
Said Maud. Said the Judge, "I'll say it is."

"Your coat is heavy. Why don't you shed it?
Have a drink?" said Maud. Said the Judge, "You said it."

And Maud, with the joy of bucolic youth,
Blended some gin and some French vermouth.

Maud Muller sighed, as she poured the gin,
"I've got something on Whittier's heroine."

"Thanks," said the judge, "a peppier brew
From a fairer hand was never knew."

And when the judge had had number 7,
Maud seemed an angel direct from Heaven.

And the judge declared, "You're a lvoely girl,
An' I'm for you Maudie, I'll tell the worl'."

And the judge said, "Marry me, Maudie dearie?"
And Maud said yes to the well known query.

And she often thinks, in her rustic way,
As she powders her nose with Bon Sachet,

"I never'n the world would a' got that guy,
If I'd waited till after the First o' July.

And of all glad words of prose or rhyme,
The gladdest are, "Act while there yet is time."

poem by Franklin P. Adams
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A Decision

today i give up mending
other people's fences
fixing their gutters and
mowing their lawns,

it is time for me to just
sit back and relax to just
stand and watch,

it is time to tell myself,
' hey, i got my own life to live! '

it is time to be alone and
treat myself a party of its own.
i am packing. The island is waiting.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Villanelle

We said farewell, my youth and I,
When all fair dreams were gone or going,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.
When white blooms fell from tree-tops high—
Our Austral winter’s way of snowing—
We said farewell, my youth and I.

We did not sigh—what use to sigh
When Death passed as a mower mowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry?

But hearing Life’s stream thunder by,
That sang of old through flowers flowing,
We said farewell, my youth and I.

There was no hope in the blue sky,
No music in the low winds blowing,
And Love’s red lips were cold and dry.

My hair is black as yet, then why
So sad! I know not, only knowing
We said farewell, my youth and I.

All are not buried when they die;
Dead souls there are through live eyes showing
When Love’s red lips are cold and dry.

So, seeing where the dead men lie,
Out of their hearts the grave-flowers growing,
We said farewell, my youth and I,
When Love’s red lips were cold and dry.

poem by Victor James Daley
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The Duet

I was smoking a cigarette;
Maud, my wife, and the tenor McKey
Were singing together a blithe duet,
And days it were better I should forget
Came suddenly back to me,
Days when life seemed a gay masque ball
And to love and be loved as the sum of it all.

As they sang together the whole scene fled,
The room’s rich hangings, the sweet home air,
Stately Maud, with her proud blonde head,
And I seemed to see in her place instead
A wealth of blue-black hair,
And a face, ah! your face, - yours, Lisette,
A face it were wiser I should forget.

We were back – well, no matter when or where,
But you remember, I know, Lisette,
I saw you, dainty, and debonnaire,
With the very same look you used to wear
In the days I should forget.
And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,
Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.

Two small slippers with big rosettes
Peeped out under your kilt-skirt there,
While we sat smoking our cigarettes
(Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!)
And singing that selfsame air;
And between the verses for interlude,
I kissed your throat, and your shoulders nude.

You were so full of a subtle fire,
You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
You were everything men admire,
And there were no fetters to make us tire;
For you were – a pretty grisette.
But you loved, as only such natures can,
With a love that makes heaven of hell for a man.
* * * *
They have ceased singing that old duet,
Stately Maud and the tenor McKey.
‘You are burning your coat with your cigarette,
And qu’avez-vous, dearest, your lids are wet, ’
Maud says, as she leans o’er me.
And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,
‘Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes.’

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Miscast I

I have whetted my brain until it is like a Damascus blade,
So keen that it nicks off the floating fringes of passers-by,
So sharp that the air would turn its edge
Were it to be twisted in flight.
Licking passions have bitten their arabesques into it,
And the mark of them lies, in and out,
Worm-like,
With the beauty of corroded copper patterning white steel.
My brain is curved like a scimitar,
And sighs at its cutting
Like a sickle mowing grass.

But of what use is all this to me!
I, who am set to crack stones
In a country lane!

poem by Amy Lowell
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A late walk

i walk through the lane again
now all tarred, laterite
the gravel all gone
pieces of my life
all the days of the years
the stones too
they hit the soft spots
under the feet
aching the heart
the lengthy lane
now so short for the legs
once so short
childhood friends, neighbours
they flew back, stared, walked
laughed from all angles
back and fore of my eyes
the heart leapt to yesteryears

inspired by

A Late Walk
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hay-Cutters

Time tells them. They go along touching
the grass, the feathery ends. When it feels
just so, they start the mowing machine,
leaving the land its long windrows,
and air strokes the leaves dry.

Sometimes you begin to push; you want to
hurry the sun, have the hours expand, because
clouds come. Lightning looks out from their hearts.
You try to hope the clouds away.
'Some year we'll have perfect hay.'

poem by William Stafford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That is one good thing about this world... there are always sure to be more springs.

quote by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Other Maud Muller

Maud Muller worked at making hay,
And cleared her forty cents a day.

Her clothes were coarse, but her health was fine,
And so she worked in the sweet sunshine

Singing as glad as a bird in May
'Barbara Allen' the livelong day.

She often glanced at the far-off town,
And wondered if eggs were up or down.

And the sweet song died of a strange disease,
Leaving a phantom taste of cheese,

And an appetite and a nameless ache
For soda-water and ginger cake.

The judge rode slowly into view--
Stopped his horse in the shade and threw

His fine-cut out, while the blushing Maud
Marveled much at the kind he 'chawed.'

'He was dry as a fish,' he said with a wink,
'And kind o' thought that a good square drink

Would brace him up.' So the cup was filled
With the crystal wine that old spring spilled;

And she gave it him with a sun-browned hand.
'Thanks,' said the judge in accents bland;

'A thousand thanks! for a sweeter draught,
From a fairer hand'--but there he laughed.

And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day,
And raked the judge instead of the hay.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pass The Mic (Green Mix)

If you can feel what I'm feeling then it's a musical masterpiece
But if you can hear what I'm dealing with then that's cool at least
What's running through my mind comes through in my walk
True feelings are shown from the way that I talk
And this is me, y'all-I M.C.,
Y'all my name is M.C.A. and I still do what I please
And now I'd like to introduce
I'll pass the mic to D. for a fist full of truth
The name is D., y'all and I don't play
And I can rock a block party 'til your hair turns grey
"So what you sayin?" I explode on site
And like Jimmy Walker I'm "Dynomite"
And now I'd like to pass the mic
So Adrock c'mon and do anything you like
I'm the A.D.R.O.C.K.
In the place with the bass I'm going all the way
I can't stop y'all tock tick y'all
And if you think that you're slick you'll catch a brick y'all
'Cause I'm a turn it in and I'm a turn it out
But now I've got to pass the mic to Yauch
Well on and on and on and on
I can't stop y'all 'til the early morn'
So rock y'all tick tock y'all to the beat y'all
C'mon and rock y'all
I give thanks for inspiration
It guides my mind along the way
A lot of people get jealous, they're talking about me
But that's just 'cause they haven't got a thing to say
Everybody's rappin' like it's a commercial
Acting like life is a big commercial
So this is what I've got to say to you all
Be true to yourself and you will never fall
And now I'd like to pass the mic to the A
So what's your name, Yauch? My name is M.C.A.
I've been coming to where I am, from the get go
Find that I can groove with the beat when I let go
So put your worries on hold
Get up and groove with the rhythm in your soul
And now I'd like to pass the mic to my brother Adrock
C'mon and shine like a light
Yes yes y'all and yes yes y'all
I'm always on time never the less y'all
And that's right y'all, I shed light y'all
I've got no time in my life to get uptight y'all
So what you gonna say that I don't know already?
I'm like Clyde and I'm rockin' steady
But time flies when you're having fun
So Mike D. c'mon and get some
M.I.K.E. to the D.
You come and see me and you pay a fee
Do what I do professionally
To tell the truth I am exactly what I want to be
Now Ad-Rock and M.C.A.
Let's rock this joint in the old school way
Well I'm on 'til the crack of dawn
Mowing down M.C.'s like I'm mowing a lawn
I go off like nothing can phase me
You think we'll ever meet Stevie? One of these days, D.
But I can stand my ground and I am down
To wax an M.C. who acts like a clown
But for now, I'd like to ask you how
You like the feel of the bass in your face in the crowd

song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pass The Mic

If you can feel what i'm feeling then it's a musical masterpiece
If you can hear what i'm dealing with then that's cool at least
What's running through my mind comes through in my walk
True feelings are shown from the way that i talk
And this is me y'all, i m.c. y'all
My name is m.c.a. and i still do what i please
And now i'd like to introduce what's up?
I'll pass the mic to d. for a fist full of truth
The name is d. y'all and i don't play
And i can rock a block party 'til your hair turns grey
So, what you sayin'? i explode on site
I'm like jimmy walker i'm dynomite
And now i'd like to pass the mic
To adrock c'mon and do anything you like
I'm the a.d.r.o.c.k.
In the place with the bass i'm going all the way
I can't stop y'all tock tick y'all
And if you think that you're slick you'll catch a brick y'all
'cause i'm a turn it in and i'm a turn it out
But now i've got to pass the mic to yauch
Well on and on and on and on i can't stop y'all 'til the early morn'
So rock rock y'all tick tock y'all to the beat y'all
C'mon and rock y'all
I give thanks for inspiration it guides my mind along the way
A lot of people get jealous, they're talking about me
But that's just 'cause they haven't got a thing to say
Everybody's rapping like it's a commercial
Actin' like life is a big commercial
So this is what i've got to say to you all
Be true to yourself and you will never fall
And now i'd like to pass the mic to the a
So what's your name, yauch? my name is m.c.a.
I've been coming to where i am from the get go
Find that i can groove with the beat when i let go
So put your worries on hold
Get up and groove with the rhythm in your soul
And now i'd like to pass the mic
To my brother adrock c'mon and shine like a light
Yes yes y'all and yes yes y'all
I'm always on time never the less y'all
And that's right y'all, i shed light y'all
I've got no time in my life to get uptight y'all
So what you gonna say that i don't know already?
I'm like clyde and i'm rockin' steady
But time flies when you're having fun
So mike d that's me c'mon and get some
M.i.k.e. to the d.
You come and see me and you pay a fee
Do what i do professionally
To tell the truth i am exactly what i want to be
Now ad-rock huh? and m.c.a. yeh?
Let's rock this joint in the old school way
Well i'm on 'til the crack of dawn
Mowing down m.c.'s like i'm mowing a lawn
I go off like nothing can phase me
You think we'll ever meet stevie? one of these days, d.
But i can stand my ground and i am down
To wax an m.c. who acts like a clown
But for now, i'd like to ask you how
You like the feel of the bass in your face in the crowd

song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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