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Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will, Polly!-Polly!- The cows are in the corn! Oh, where's Polly?

Richard Watson Gilder

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Richard Watson Gilder
Age: 65 †
Born: 1844
Born: February 8
Died: 1909
Died: November 19
Editor
Poet
Bordentown
New Jersey
Goes
Towns
Jamie
Gone
Market
Mills
Making
Calling
July
Father
Door
Hollow
Polly
Mother
Minds
Corn
Hay
Mind
Summer
Cows
Whistling
Men
Doors
Kitchen
Mill
Boys
Town
Robins

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A man not perfect, but of heart so high, of such heroic rage, That even his hopes became a part of earth's eternal heritage.
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Since ancient Time began, Ever on some great soul God laid an infinite burden-- The weight of all this world, the hopes of man, Conflict and pain, and fame immortal are his guerdon.
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In Heaven's happy bowers There blossom two flowers, One with fiery glow And one as white as snow While lo! before them stands, With pale and trembling hands, A spirit who must choose One, and one refuse.
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I count my time by times that I meet thee These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons, And nights, these are my old moons and my new moons. Slow fly the hours, fast the hours flee, If thou art far from or art near to me: If thou art far, the bird's tunes are no tunes If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes.
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Give me a theme, the little poet cried, And I will do my part, 'Tis not a theme you need, the world replied You need a heart.
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Against the darkness outer God's light his likeness takes, And he from the mighty doubter The great believer makes.
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What if thou be saint or sinner, Crooked gray-beard, straight beginner,-- Empty paunch, or jolly dinner, When Death thee shall call. All like are rich or richer, King with crown, and cross-legged stitcher, When the grave hides all.
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