I. NOONDAY.
Two angry men--in heat they sever,
And one goes home by a harvest field:--
"Hope's nought," quoth he, "and vain endeavor;
I said and say it, I will not yield!
"As for this wrong, no art can mend it,
The bond is shiver'd that held us twain;
Old friends we be, but law must end it,
Whether for loss or whether for gain.
"Yon stream is small--full slow its wending;
But winning is sweet, but right is fine;
And shoal of trout, or willowy bending--
Though Law be costly--I'll prove them mine.
"His strawberry cow slipped loose her tether,
And trod the best of my barley down;
His little lasses at play together
Pluck'd the poppies my boys had grown.
"What then?--Why naught! _She_ lack'd of reason;
And _they_--my little ones match them well:--
But _this_--Nay all things have their season,
And 'tis my season to curb and quell."
II. SUNSET.
So saith he, when noontide fervors flout him,
So thinks, when the West is amber and red,
When he smells the hop-vines sweet about him,
And the clouds are rosy overhead.
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