The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
Then later that night when the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind they'd been feeling?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
When the wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
'Twas the witch of November come stealing
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind

When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck
Saying, 'Fellas, it's too rough to feed you'
At seven PM a main hatchway caved in
He said, 'Fellas, it's been good to know you'
The captain wired in he had water coming in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams
The islands and bays are for sportsmen
And farther below, Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go, as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early

John Barleycorn

Traditional
by Robert Burns

There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.

The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy;
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

Thrasher

by Neil Young

They were hiding behind hay bales
They were planting in the full moon
They had given all they had for something new
But the light of day was on them
They could see the thrashers coming
And the water shone like diamonds in the dew

And I was just getting up
Hit the road before it's light
Trying to catch an hour on the sun
When I saw those thrashers rolling by
Looking more than two lanes wide
I was feeling like my day had just begun

Where the eagle glides descending
There's an ancient river bending
Through the timeless gorge of changes
Where sleeplessness awaits
I searched out my companions
Who were lost in crystal canyons
When the aimless blade of science
Slashed the pearly gates

It was then I knew I'd had enough
Burned my credit card for fuel
Headed out to where the pavement turns to sand
With a one-way ticket to the land of truth
And my suitcase in my hand
How I lost my friends I still don't understand

They had the best selection
They were poisoned with protection
There was nothing that they needed
Nothing left to find
They were lost in rock formations
Or became park bench mutations
On the sidewalks and in the stations
They were waiting, waiting

So I got bored and left them there
They were just deadweight to me
Better down the road without that load
Brings back the time when I was eight or nine
I was watching my mama's TV
It was that great Grand Canyon rescue episode

Where the vulture glides descending
On an asphalt highway bending
Through libraries and museums
Galaxies and stars
Down the windy halls of friendship
To the rose clipped by the bullwhip
The motel of lost companions
Waits with heated pool and bar

But me I'm not stopping there
Got my own row left to hoe
Just another line in the field of time
When the thrasher comes, I'll be stuck in the sun
Like the dinosaurs in shrines
But I'll know the time has come
To give what's mine

I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine

by Bob Dylan

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine
Alive as you or me
Tearing through these quarters
In the utmost misery
With a blanket underneath his arm
And a coat of solid gold
Searching for the very souls
Whom already have been sold

'Arise, arise,' he cried so loud
With a voice without restraint
'Come out, ye gifted kings and queens
And hear my sad complaint
No martyr is among ye now
Whom you can call your own,
But go on your way accordingly
And know you're not alone'

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine
Alive with fiery breath
And I dreamed I was amongst the ones
That put him out to death
Oh, I awoke in anger
So alone and terrified
I put my fingers against the glass
And bowed my head and cried

Sloop John B

Traditional

We come on the sloop John B
My grandfather and me
Around Nassau town we did roam
Drinking all night
Got into a fight
Well, I feel so broke up
I want to go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the captain ashore
Let me go home
I want to go home
Well, I feel so broke up
I want to go home

The first mate he got drunk
And broke in the captain's trunk
The constable had to come and take him away
Sheriff John Stone
Why don't you leave me alone?
Well, I feel so broke up
I wanna go home

The poor cook he caught the fits
And threw away all my grits
And then he took and he ate up all of my corn
Let me go home
Why don't they let me go home?
This is the worst trip
I've ever been on

All Along the Watchtower

by Bob Dylan

'There must be some way out of here,' said the joker to the thief
'There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth'

'No reason to get excited,' the thief, he kindly spoke
'There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late'

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl

Primer Coat

by Mike Cooley

The old man's out by the swimming pool
He goes there to think
He talks on the phone sometimes
Hardly mentions a thing
Said he needed it for his knees
He used to swim back in school
Graduated in '84
Quit drinking in '92

He used to call her a basket case
For hanging on like she did
The only girl of a foreman's wife
She'd never let him forget
It comes to women and they survive
But when the same comes to men
Someone comes for their babies
Something dies there and then

Slinging gravel in parking lots
And looking tough on the hood
A girl as plain as a primer coat
Leaves nothing misunderstood
Her mother and I through trembling lips
A steady hand on his own
The future of every rebel cause
When all the fight in him is gone

My sister's marrying in the spring
And everything will be fine
Mama's planning the wedding
Daddy's planning on crying
She's slipping out of her apron strings
You best leave him be
He's staring through his own taillights
And gathering speed

Meet James Ensor

by John Flansburgh

Meet James Ensor
Belgium's famous painter
Dig him up and shake his hand
Appreciate the man

Before there were junk stores
Before there was junk
He lived with his mother
And the torments of Christ
The world was transformed
A crowd gathered round
Pressed against his window
So they could be the first

To meet James Ensor
Belgium's famous painter
Raise a glass and sit and stare
Understand the man

He lost all his friends
He didn't need his friends
He lived with his mother
And repeated himself
The world has forgotten
The world moved along
The crowd at his window
Went back to their homes

Meet James Ensor
Belgium's famous painter
Dig him up and shake his hand
Appreciate the man

Dire Wolf

by Robert Hunter

In the timbers of Fennario
the wolves are running 'round
The winter was so hard and cold
froze ten feet 'neath the ground

Don't murder me
I beg of you don't murder me
Please
don't murder me

I sat down to my supper
'Twas a bottle of red whiskey
I said my prayers and went to bed
That's the last they saw of me

Don't murder me
I beg of you don't murder me
Please
don't murder me

When I awoke, the Dire Wolf
Six hundred pounds of sin
Was grinnin at my window
All I said was "Come on in"

Don't murder me
I beg of you don't murder me
Please
don't murder me

The wolf came in, I got my cards
We sat down for a game
I cut my deck to the queen of spades
but the cards were all the same

Don't murder me
I beg of you don't murder me
Please
don't murder me

In the backwash of Fennario
The black and bloody mire
The Dire Wolf collects his due
while the boys sing round the fire

Don't murder me
I beg of you don't murder me
Please
don't murder me

Incident on 57th Street

by Bruce Springsteen

Spanish Johnny drove in
From the underworld last night
With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick
But dressed just like dynamite
He tried selling his heart
To the hard girls over on Easy Street
But they sighed, 'Johnny it falls apart so easy
'And you know hearts these days are cheap'

And the pimps swung their axes
And said, 'Johnny, you're a cheater'
Well the pimps swung their axes
And said, 'Johnny, you're a liar'
And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice
Saying, 'Johnny, don't cry'

Puerto Rican Jane
Won't you tell me what's your name?
I want to drive you down to the other side of town
Where paradise ain't so crowded
There'll be action going down on Shanty Lane tonight
All them golden-heeled fairies in a real bitch fight
Pull .38s and kiss the girls good night

Good night, it's all right, Jane
Now let them black boys in to light the soul flame
We may find it out on the street tonight, baby
Or we may walk until the daylight maybe

Well like a cool Romeo he made his moves
Oh, she looked so fine
Like a late Juliet she knew he'd never be true
But then she didn't really mind
Upstairs a band was playing, the singer was singing
Something about going home
She whispered, 'Spanish Johnny, you can leave me tonight
'But just don't leave me alone'

And Johnny cried, 'Puerto Rican Jane
'Word is down the cops have found the vein'
Oh all them barefoot boys, they left their homes for the woods
Them little barefoot street boys, they say homes ain't no good
They left the corners
Threw away all their switchblade knives
And kissed each other good-bye

Johnny was sitting on the fire escape
Watching the kids playing down the street
He called down, 'Hey little heroes, summer's long
'But I guess it ain't very sweet around here anymore'
Janey sleeps in sheets damp with sweat
Johnny sits up alone and watches her dream on
And the sister prays for lost souls
Then breaks down in the chapel after everyone's gone
Jane moves over to share her pillow
But opens her eyes to see Johnny up and putting his clothes on

She says, 'Those romantic young boys
'All they ever want to do is fight'
Those romantic young boys
They're calling through the window
'Hey Spanish Johnny, you want to make a little easy money tonight?'

And Johnny whispered, 'Good night, it's all tight, Jane'
I'll meet you tomorrow night on Lover's Lane
We may find it out on the street tonight, baby
Or we may walk until the daylight maybe

Midwest Midnight

by Michael Stanley

With thirteen lovers I hid beneath the covers
Got staples in my hands for my time
With the radio low so the folks don't know
I proceed with my passionate crime

Though somewhat obtuse, I've been told this abuse
Will more than likely make me go blind
But with a heart that's aching, it's a risk worth taking
'Cause true love, they say, is so hard to find

Why can't she see what she's doing to me
If that bandstand girl only was here
And I'm living the dream, getting lost on the screen
Doing Presley in front of the mirror

Hanging around, getting high on the sounds
Of the ladies and electric guitars
Cross a double yellow line to who knows where
With six sets of glory a night in some bar

Midwest midnight
Ten thousand watts of holy light
From my radio so clear
Bodies glistening
Everybody's listening
As the man plays all the hits that you want to hear

With a will to believe, and my songs on my sleeve
If only I'd known from the start
Such a sensitive toy, for a suburban boy
Who believed he was suffering for art

Then something went wrong, and he watched as his songs
Met a slow death of silence, but worse
He was taken to task, by some critic who asked
'Do you write the words or lyrics first?'

I hear them calling
'Boy, you should be grateful
'To get your foot inside the door
'You know there's thousands out there
'Who would take your place
'This attitude of yours, my son,
'It lacks the due respect
'You bite the hand that feeds you
'Even if you're never fed'

Chasing the fame keeps them all in the game
But money's still the way they keep score
And nobody told you that you would get older
Strung out like some avenue whore

Waiting release, getting shot through the grease
Some L.A. madonna's maligned
And New York's calling just to see if you've heard
About the great English band they just signed

Take me back to midwest midnight
Ten thousand watts of holy light
From my radio so clear
Bodies glistening
Is anybody listening?
Does the man still play all the hits that you want to hear?

Jeremy

by Eddie Vedder

At home, drawing pictures
Of mountaintops
With him on top
Lemon yellow sun
Arms raised in a V
And the dead lay
In pools of maroon below

Daddy didn't give attention
To the fact
That mommy didn't care
King Jeremy the Wicked
Ruled his world
Jeremy spoke in class today

Clearly I remember
Picking on the boy
Seemed a harmless little punk
But we unleashed a lion
Gnashed his teeth
And bit the recess lady's breast
How could I forget?

And he hit me with a surprise left
My jaw left hurting
Dropped wide open
Just like the day
Like the day I heard

Daddy didn't give affection
And the boy was something
That mommy wouldn't wear
King Jeremy the Wicked
Ruled his world
Jeremy spoke in class today

Try to forget this
Try to erase this
From the blackboard

Jeremy spoke in class today

Doubt Comes In

by Anaïs Mitchell

Doubt comes in and strips the paint
Doubt comes in and turns the wine
Doubt comes in and leaves a trace
Of vinegar and turpentine

Where are you?
Where are you now?

Doubt comes in and kills the lights
Doubt comes in and chills the air
Doubt comes in and all falls silent
It's as though you aren't there

Where are you?
Where are you now?

Orpheus, you're shivering
Is it cold or fear?
Just keep singing
The coldest night of the coldest year
Comes right before the spring

Doubt comes in with tricky fingers
Doubt comes in with fickle tongues
Doubt comes in and my heart falters
And forgets the songs it's sung

Where are you?
Where are you now?

Orpheus, hold on
Hold on tight
It won't be long
'Cause the darkest hour of the darkest night
Comes right before the dawn

Ronnie and Neil

by Patterson Hood

Church blew up in Birmingham
Four little black girls killed
For no goddamn good reason
All this hate and violence
Can't come to no good end
A stain on the good name
A whole lot of good people
Dragged through the blood and glass
Blood stains on their good names
And all of us take the blame

Meanwhile in north Alabama
Wilson Pickett comes to town
To record that sweet soul music
To get that Muscle Shoals sound

Meanwhile in north Alabama
Aretha Franklin comes to town
To record that sweet soul music
To get that Muscle Shoals sound

And out in California
A rock star from Canada writes
A couple of great songs
About the bad shit that went down
'Southern Man' and 'Alabama'
Certainly told some truth
But there were a lot of good folks down here
And Neil Young just wasn't around

Meanwhile in north Alabama
Lynyrd Skynyrd comes to town
To record with Jimmy Johnson
And that Muscle Shoals Sound

And they met some real good people
Not no racist pieces of shit
And they wrote a song about it
And that song became a hit

Ronnie and Neil
Rock stars today ain't half as real
Speaking their minds on how they feel
Let them guitars blast for Ronnie and Neil

Now Ronnie and Neil became good friends
Their feud was just in song
Skynyrd was a bunch of Neil Young fans
And Neil he loved that song
So he wrote 'Powderfinger'
For Skynyrd to record
But Ronnie ended up singing
'Sweet Home Alabama' to the Lord

And Neil helped carry Ronnie
In his casket to the ground
And to my way of thinking
Us southern men need both of them around

from Ulysses

by James Joyce
from Episode 18 — Penelope

[...]the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharans and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

Rock and Roll

by Lou Reed

Jenny said when she was just 5 years old
There was nothing happening at all
Every time she puts on the radio
There was nothing going down at all

Then one fine morning, she puts on a New York station
You know, she don't believe what she heard at all
She started shaking to that fine, fine music
You know, her life was saved by rock and roll

Despite all the amputations
You know, you could just go out
And dance to the rock and roll station
It was all right

Jenny said when she was just about 5 years old
'You know, my parents are gonna be the death of us all
'Two TV sets and two Cadillac cars
'Well, you know, ain't gonna help me at all'

Then one fine morning, she turns on a New York station
She doesn't believe what she hears at all
She started dancing to that fine, fine music
You know, her life was saved by rock and roll

Despite all the computations
You could just change it
To that rock and roll station
And baby, it was all right

The Sands of Iwo Jima

by Patterson Hood

George A. was at the movies in December '41
They announced it in the lobby what had just gone on
He drove up from Birmingham back to the family's farm
Thought he'd get him a deferment, there was much work to be done

He was a family man, even in those days
But Uncle Sam decided he was needed anyway
In the South Pacific over half a world away
He believed in God and Country, things was just that way

When I was just a kid, I spent every weekend
On the farm that he grew up on, so I guess so did I
And we'd stay up watching movies on the black-and-white TV
We watched The Sands of Iwo Jima starring John Wayne

Every year in June, George A. goes to a reunion
Of the men that he served with, and their wives and kids and grandkids
My great-uncle used to take me, and I'd watch them recollect
About some things I could not comprehend

And I thought about that movie, asked if it was that way
He just shook his head and smiled at me in such a loving way
As he thought about some friends he will never see again
He said, 'I never saw John Wayne on the sands of Iwo Jima'

Most of those men are gone now, but he goes still every year
And George A.'s still doing fine, especially for his years
He's still living on that homestead in the house that he was born in
And I sure wish I could go see him today

He never drove a new car, though he could easily afford it
He'd just buy one for the family, take whatever no one wanted
He said a shiny car didn't mean much after all the things he'd seen
George A. never saw John Wayne on the sands of Iwo Jima

Maud Muller

by John Greenleaf Whittier

Maud Muller on a summer's day
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But when she glanced to the far-off town
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast,—

A wish that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And asked a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

'Thanks!' said the Judge; 'a sweeter draught
'From a fairer hand was never quaffed.'

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: 'Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!

'He would dress me up in silks so fine,
'And praise and toast me at his wine.

'My father should wear a broadcloth coat;
'My brother should sail a pointed boat.

'I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
'And the baby should have a new toy each day.

'And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
'And all should bless me who left our door.'

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.

'A form more fair, a face more sweet,
'Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

'And her modest answer and graceful air
'Show her wise and good as she is fair.

'Would she were mine, and I to-day,
'Like her, a harvester of hay.

'No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
'Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

'But low of cattle and song of birds,
'And health and quiet and loving words.'

But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;

And the young girl mused beside the well
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go;

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead;

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.

And the proud man sighed, and with a secret pain,
'Ah, that I were free again!

'Free as when I rode that day,
'Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.'

She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,

And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through a wall,

In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein;

And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;

The weary wheel to a spinet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned,

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.

Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, 'It might have been.'

Maud Muller on a summer's day
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But when she glanced to the far-off town
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast,—

A wish that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And asked a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

'Thanks!' said the Judge; 'a sweeter draught
'From a fairer hand was never quaffed.'

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: 'Ah me!
That I the Judge's bride might be!

'He would dress me up in silks so fine,
'And praise and toast me at his wine.

'My father should wear a broadcloth coat;
'My brother should sail a pointed boat.

'I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,
And the baby should have a new toy each day.

'And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
'And all should bless me who left our door.'

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,
And saw Maud Muller standing still.

'A form more fair, a face more sweet,
'Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

'And her modest answer and graceful air
'Show her wise and good as she is fair.

'Would she were mine, and I to-day,
'Like her, a harvester of hay.

'No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
'Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

'But low of cattle and song of birds,
'And health and quiet and loving words.'

But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;

And the young girl mused beside the well
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go;

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead;

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms.

And the proud man sighed, and with a secret pain,
'Ah, that I were free again!

'Free as when I rode that day,
'Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.'

She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain,
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,

And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through a wall,

In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein;

And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;

The weary wheel to a spinet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned,

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.

Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, 'It might have been.'

Alas for the maiden, alas for the Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!

God pity them both and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;

And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!

The Parable of the Young Man and the Old

by Wilfred Owen

So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned, both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake, and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets the trenches there,
And stretched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

Rocky Mountain High

by John Denver

He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Coming home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door

When he first came to the mountains, his life was far away
On the road and hanging by a song
But the string's already broken and he doesn't really care
It keeps changing fast and it don't last for long

It's the Colorado Rocky Mountain high
I've seen it raining fire in the sky
The shadows from the starlight are softer than a lullaby
Rocky Mountain high

He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below
He saw everything as far as you can see
And they say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun
And he lost a friend but kept the memory

Now he walks in quiet solitude, the forests and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight is turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake

And the Colorado Rocky Mountain high
I've seen it raining fire in the sky
Talk to God and listen to the casual reply
Rocky Mountain high

Now his life is full of wonder but his heart still knows some fear
Of the simple things he cannot comprehend
Why they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more
More people, more scars upon the land

In the Colorado Rocky Mountain high
I've seen it raining fire in the sky
I know he'd be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly
Rocky Mountain high

The Colorado Rocky Mountain high
I've seen it raining fire in the sky
Friends around the campfire and everybody's high
Rocky Mountain high