An’ yit I love th’ unhighschooled way 25
      Ol’ farmers hed when I wuz younger;
    Their talk wuz meatier, an’ ’ould stay,
      While book-froth seems to whet your hunger;
    For puttin’ in a downright lick
      ‘Twixt Humbug’s eyes, ther’ ’s few can metch it. 30
    An’ then it helves my thoughts ez slick
      Ez stret-grained hickory doos a hetchet.

    But when I can’t, I can’t, thet’s all,
      For Natur’ won’t put up with gullin’;
    Idees you hev to shove an’ haul 35
      Like a druv pig ain’t wuth a mullein: 
    Live thoughts ain’t sent for; thru all rifts
      O’ sense they pour an’ resh ye onwards,
    Like rivers when south-lyin’ drifts
      Feel thet th’ old airth’s a-wheelin’ sunwards. 40

    Time wuz, the rhymes come crowdin’ thick
      Ez office-seekers arter ’lection,
    An’ into ary place ’ould stick
      Without no bother nor objection;
    But sence the war my thoughts hang back 45
      Ez though I wanted to enlist ’em,
    An’ subs’tutes—­they don’t never lack,
      But then they’ll slope afore you’ve mist ’em.

    Nothin’ don’t seem like wut it wuz;
      I can’t see wut there is to hender, 50
    An’ yit my brains jes’ go buzz, buzz,
      Like bumblebees agin a winder;
    ’Fore these times come, in all airth’s row,
      Ther’ wuz one quiet place, my head in,
    Where I could hide an’ think,—­but now 55
      It’s all one teeter, hopin’, dreadin’.

    Where’s Peace?  I start, some clear-blown night,
      When gaunt stone walls grow numb an’ number,
    An’, creakin’ ‘cross the snow-crus’ white,
      Walk the col’ starlight into summer; 60
    Up grows the moon, an’ swell by swell
      Thru the pale pasturs silvers dimmer
    Than the last smile thet strives to tell
      O’ love gone heavenward in its shimmer.

    I hev ben gladder o’ sech things, 65
      Than cocks o’ spring or bees o’ clover,
    They filled my heart with livin’ springs,
      But now they seem to freeze ’em over;
    Sights innercent ez babes on knee,
      Peaceful ez eyes o’ pastur’d cattle, 70
    Jes’ coz they be so, seem to me
      To rile me more with thoughts o’ battle.

    In-doors an’ out by spells I try;
      Ma’am Natur’ keeps her spin-wheel goin’,
    But leaves my natur’ stiff and dry 75
      Ez fiel’s o’ clover arter mowin’;
    An’ her jes’ keepin’ on the same,
      Calmer ‘n a clock, an’ never carin’,
    An’ findin’ nary thing to blame,
      Is wus than ef she took to swearin’. 80