Songs from the Ozarks; and other poems . E OZARKS PROLOGUE I come, untrammeled by mans art,And sing without a guiding chart;Uncultured though the songs may be,Theyre caught from natures nature, I have heard the songOf happy creatures all day long,Who live in peace, without a greed,Contented with their daily need. I ve always loved the woods and streams-Have always, in my youthful rustic cabin in some there, with nature for my from all the madning pass this earthly life,Without a thought of wealth or with just my daily need
Songs from the Ozarks; and other poems . E OZARKS PROLOGUE I come, untrammeled by mans art,And sing without a guiding chart;Uncultured though the songs may be,Theyre caught from natures nature, I have heard the songOf happy creatures all day long,Who live in peace, without a greed,Contented with their daily need. I ve always loved the woods and streams-Have always, in my youthful rustic cabin in some there, with nature for my from all the madning pass this earthly life,Without a thought of wealth or with just my daily need. Ive seen leaves turning sere and streaks of red and gold to crown;Ive seen them floating down the streamsLike fairies in sweet childhood ve caught the sound of swaying breezeA-rustling through the top of trees;Ive listened, and Ive caught the fallOf leaves that dropped to autumns call. I would not swap the mocking birdFor any music that I ve heard,Though Wagnerd be at organ by Sousas band; —4—. Ive always loved the woods and streams-Have always, in my youthful dreams,Built rustic cabin in some nook. SONGS FROM THE OZARKS The warbling of his wild, sweet note,Born in his heavnly music throat,Just makes the very soul aspireTo join the angels in Gods choir. I would not swap the twilight hourFor all the citys lectric power;I would not give old natures greenFor any city park I ve would not give the moons soft raysFor any of their great white ways;Id rather sleep on beds of moss,Than on a velvet mattress toss. I sing the song of woods and starlight nights and pale moonbeams,Of mossy dells and vine-clad rippling, drippling, gladsome sing of reed and rush and clustered fern, with a green flush;Of graceful boughs and dark green trailing vine that interweaves. I sing just as I see and hear. The songs of nature, ever dear; The sounds I hear beneath the trees— Of swelling buds and busy bee
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