Samuel Alfred Beadle Poems

I know a sweet suburban girl,
She's witty, bright and brief;
With dimples in her cheeks; and pearl
In rubies set, for teeth.
...

Many aud many a year has gone
Since I was cleared by Joe,
Who plowed me up and planted corn,
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Life is a mysterious thing.
It comes we know not whence,
And leaves us on a rapid wing
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The things I love I may not touch,
But kiss the hand that shackles bring;
The thraldom of my soul is such
I can but nurse my thongs and sing,
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My Country God bless thee! God bless thee, my home!
With harvest and plenty, thy dark fertile loam;
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The fairest thing on land or sea
Is the Southern girl, to me.
You should see her when the stars
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Words are but leaves to the tree of mind;
Where breezy fancy plays;
Or echoes from the souls which find
Expression's subtle ways.
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I'd roamed around by no ties bound,
But fancy's vain and fickle will;
Squandered my youth and trampled truth,
Beneath my wayward feet, until
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Oh! have you heard the boastful song
Of Highland-Buckingham;
Who often in their zeal go wrong,
And never care a damn.
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I care not for the miser's gold,
Nor increased acreage of lands;
My neighbor's goods I would not hold
Nor wring wealth from his clinched hands.
...