Seems
to me I’ve never seen
‘Arly
mornin’s as serene,
Full
of feelin’ an’ repose
When
the soul jet overflows,
Heart
at rest an’ pulses quick,
As
these mornin’s on the Crick.
Seems
as if the world had jest
Woke
up from a peaceful rest,
With
a smile upon its face,
Lovin’
all the human race;
Sayin’
“welcome, son of mine,
All
these quiet joys are thine.”
Seems
as if I can’t go round
With
my feet upon the ground;
Feels
so plagney good that I
Seem
betwixt the earth an’ sky,
Up
in natur’s choicest ways
Walkin’
to the tune she palys.
Stand
there with a broadened grin
Jest
a drinkin’ of it in,
When
I hear a voice intrude –
“Cyrus,
fetch me in that wood!”
Comin’
as it does so quick,
Sp’iles
my mornin’s on the Crick.
March
21, ‘09
plaguey
– [attributive]
informal: troublesome, annoying
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