Tennyson' At The Farm

Topics: classic

(TO L. AND H.H.) O you that dwell 'mid farm and fold, Yet keep so quick undulled a heart, I send you here that book of gold, So loved so long; The fairest art, The sweetest English song. And often in the far-off town, When summer sits with open door, I'll dream I see you set it down Beside the churn, Whose round shall slacken more and more, Till you forget to turn. And I shall smile that you forget, And Dad will scold - but never mind! Butter is good, but better yet, Think such as we, To leave the farm and fold behind, And follow such as he.

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"(TO L. AND H.H.)..."

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