Deserted Farms
A foretimes, fruitfulness and tilth were here.
Snug granges held the harvests, acres broad
Were rich in grass and grain; the good-man's board
Groaned with its plenty, and a rustic cheer
Sat in the homesteads sprinkled far and near.
To-day, prosperity no more is lord;
Choked wells, roofs fallen, weed-grown ways afford
A vision desolate and a memory drear.
Sons of New England, your ingratitude,
Like that once shown to tragic Lear, is base!
For now ye scorn the teeming mother-breast
That gave you strength, and in a vagrant mood
Will turn to alien meadows of the West,
Or toward the peopled cities set your face.
Snug granges held the harvests, acres broad
Were rich in grass and grain; the good-man's board
Groaned with its plenty, and a rustic cheer
Sat in the homesteads sprinkled far and near.
To-day, prosperity no more is lord;
Choked wells, roofs fallen, weed-grown ways afford
A vision desolate and a memory drear.
Sons of New England, your ingratitude,
Like that once shown to tragic Lear, is base!
For now ye scorn the teeming mother-breast
That gave you strength, and in a vagrant mood
Will turn to alien meadows of the West,
Or toward the peopled cities set your face.
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