Classic Poem

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.