James Whitcomb Riley (7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916 / Greenfield, Indiana)
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.
Comments about this poem (That Other Maud Muller by James Whitcomb Riley )
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