GET up, my lad! The sun is rising, it is a most majestic day; Aurora's beauties are surprising, you should be glad to quit the hay. Get up, get up, the dew is gleaming, like priceless jewels on the grass; it is a sin to lie here dreaming, while morning's transient glories pass. Get up, my son, the light is stealing athwart the summit of the hill, and I can hear the porkers squealing for buckets of refreshing swill. The oriole's already soaring, the mocking bird begins to mock, and you, O sluggish youth, are snoring, although it's nearly four o'clock! When I was young my sainted father ne'er had to rouse me from my bed; I thought it shame to cause such bother—I rose before the East was red. Before the wren began its carols, or catbird raised its solo fine, I went and carried seven barrels of slop to feed the humpbacked swine. I went about my labors singing, as I would see you do, my son; and when the breakfast bell was ringing, the morning chores were always done. Get up, get up, the world is waking! The morn is grand, but soon it fades! And in three shakes I will be breaking this slat across your shoulder blades! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE IN AUTUMN by SARA TEASDALE AT THE TAVERN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH ENTERS INTO HEAVEN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY A HEALTH by EDWARD COATE PINKNEY UPON HIS PICTURE by THOMAS RANDOLPH THE TOOTHPICK by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM A SWING SONG by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 5. THE LOCH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |