The Marsh
Farmlands about the marsh are dreary
With sameness and unending toil
But in the marsh are groups of willows
And calamus grows in the treacherous soil.
A meadow brook through the cool lush grasses
Makes pools where water lilies bloom,
And bob-o-links shake dewy music
On marsh airs dreamy with perfume.
One farmer said, “The place is worthless—
The bogs and rains must have their way.”
Another said, “Our children plague us
For sneaking to the marsh to play.”
Some dreaming farm lad yet may wander
Into the marsh and find the words
To make them love it and hear its whispers
Above the lowing of the herds.
He may—I doubt it since so many
Who left their chores and ran with me
Down to the marsh to play are dreary
For beauty they no longer see.
Unheard the bob-o-links are singing,
Unloved the willows sway in light—
All that the grown folks near the marsh know
Is distant sound of frogs at night.
With sameness and unending toil
But in the marsh are groups of willows
And calamus grows in the treacherous soil.
A meadow brook through the cool lush grasses
Makes pools where water lilies bloom,
And bob-o-links shake dewy music
On marsh airs dreamy with perfume.
One farmer said, “The place is worthless—
The bogs and rains must have their way.”
Another said, “Our children plague us
For sneaking to the marsh to play.”
Some dreaming farm lad yet may wander
Into the marsh and find the words
To make them love it and hear its whispers
Above the lowing of the herds.
He may—I doubt it since so many
Who left their chores and ran with me
Down to the marsh to play are dreary
For beauty they no longer see.
Unheard the bob-o-links are singing,
Unloved the willows sway in light—
All that the grown folks near the marsh know
Is distant sound of frogs at night.
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