I HIRED a man to hoe my squashes; he came, in gauntlets and goloshes, at the appointed hour; he threw his coat upon some boulders, and rolled his shirtsleeves to his shoulders, and hoed with vim and power. He did not pause at times to cackle about the war, nor yet to tackle the grievous income tax; he slew the weeds that threatened choking the vines, and kept his hoe a-smoking, and buckled down like wax. And when his toilsome task was ended, up to the house this worker wended, where I sat smoking hay; "Come out," he said, "where I've been hoeing, and see I've made a proper showing, before I draw my pay." I fell upon his neck and kissed him, and hung some laurels on his system, and cried, "You take the bun! For seldom do I see a fellow who cares how punk his work, or yellow, so that he gets the mon. I am enchanted with your labors, I'll recommend you to my neighbors, and boost you through the town; the toiler who, by every action, endeavors to give satisfaction, deserves a high renown." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH by ROBERT BURNS GASCOIGNE'S GOOD MORROW by GEORGE GASCOIGNE ODE ON THE SPRING by THOMAS GRAY THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS by THOMAS MOORE THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL by OSCAR WILDE |