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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN CALM CONTENT, by                    
First Line: A little smoke lazed slowly up from my big cigar
Last Line: And back I leant in calm content that things are as they are
Subject(s): Contentment;labor & Laborers;memory;time


A LITTLE smoke lazed slowly up from my big cigar,
The club chair was both soft and warm, as club chairs sometimes are.
The bottle hobnobbed with the glass just where my arm was bent,
And there was naught for me to want — unless it were content.
For longingly I gazed away, all through a golden haze,
Back to the time that comes but once — back to my boyhood days;
I closed my eyes to better see that happy land of charm,
The long-lost days, when, free from care, I lived back on the farm.

I slowly stretched my weary frame — who knocked upon the door?
"Get up! Get up! you lazybones, it's nearly half-past four!"
The night before I'd sparking been and reached home rather late —
To-day I'd plough the old stump lot through hours more than eight.
The days went by and took their time, those "days of golden charm,"
And Satan found no mischief for me down there on the farm;
And some days it was piping hot and some days it would rain,
But always there was work to do — of jobs an endless chain.
I picked potatoes without stint — the sun bored through my back;
I swung the knife against the corn until my arm did rack;
I sweated at the old grindstone, I cleaned the stable floors,
And did some eight-and-forty things that lightly are called "chores."

One blessed night, 'most tired to death, I tumbled into bed —
And woke to see an angel's face on Sambo's sable head;
He brought another bottle in, relit my big cigar,
And back I leant in calm content that things are as they are.





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