I LIKE to linger in the shade, close to the pail of lemonade, and watch the honest sons of toil get busy with the fertile soil. I like to see them shock the wheat, out in the blinding glare of heat, the great strong men who do not tire, and all their labors I admire. I wonder at the giant strength that they display, the whole day's length, and wish I had such thews as theirs—I'm soft from riding easy chairs—I envy them the appetite which makes coarse fodder a delight, I envy them the sleep profound they know when slumbertime comes round; I envy them, but do not flee from my retreat beneath a tree. I often counsel other men to get back to the soil again, to simply live and labor hard, and work away their surplus lard. But this soft place beneath a tree is plenty good enough for me. The men who toil with might and main, who plow the glebe and reap the grain, receive my earnest, ardent praise, and I embalm them in my lays; and I am happy in the shade, with my tall jug of lemonade. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AELLA: THE MINSTREL'S SONG by THOMAS CHATTERTON THE PHANTOM KISS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IN HARDWOOD GROVES by ROBERT FROST TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK LITTLE JESUS by FRANCIS THOMPSON THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET by SAMUEL WOODWORTH A SWING SONG by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |