Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/168

 Sam worked all morning and couldn't get rest For a kind of a feeling of grief in his breast. And yet, not grief, but something more Like the thought that what happens has happened before. He fed the chickens, he fed the sow, On a three-legged stool sate down to the cow, With a pail 'twixt his legs in the green in the meadow. Under the elm trees' lengthening shadow; And woke at last with a smile and a sigh To find he had milked his poor Jingo dry.

As dusk set in, even the birds did seem To be calling and calling from out of a dream. He chopped up kindling, shut up his shed, In a bucket of well-water soused his head To freshen his eyes up a little and make The drowsy old wits of him wider awake. As neat as a womanless creature is able He swept up his hearthstone and laid the table. And then o'er his platter and mug, if you please, Sate gloomily gooming at loaf and cheese — Gooming and gooming as if the mere sight Of his victuals could satisfy appetite! And the longer and longer he looked at them The slimmer slimmed upward his candle flame,

Blue in the air. And when squeaked a mouse 'Twas loud as a trump in the hush of the house.