Incipit
In prideful scorn I watched the farmer stride With step uncouth o’er road and mossy lane; How could I help but distantly deride The churlish, calloused, coarse-clad country swain? Upon his lips a mumbled ballad stirred The evening air with dull cacophony; In cold contempt, I shuddered as I heard, And held myself no kin to such as he. But as he leaped the stile and gained the field Where star-faced blossoms twinkled through the hay, His lumb’ring footfalls oftentimes would yield, To spare the flowers that bloomed along the way. And while I gazed, my spirit swelled apace; With the c …
205 mots · Poésie · texte intégral sur Wikisource.
Version transcrite — source non identifiée, 1916. (Le numéro dont Wikisource donne le texte ; ce n’est pas toujours la première parution.)
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