Harvest Home Festival.

        In summer time it doth seem good
        To seek the shade of the green wood,
        For it doth banish all our care
        When we gaze on scene so fair.

        And birds do here in branches sing
        So merrily in early spring,
        And lovingly they here do pair
        Their mutual joys together share.

        Here nature's charming, never rude,
        Inspiring all with happy mood,
        Tables had choice fruits of season,
        And we too had feast of reason.

        To dinner table all did march
        Through evergreen triumphal arch,
        On top the Union Jack it floats,
        On each side sheaves of wheat and oats.

        Great pumpkins and big ears of corn,
        They do this rural arch adorn,
        We are reminded now 'tis fall,
        And boys enjoy game of baseball.

        With joy at night each one did gaze
        At the mighty bonfire's blaze,
        The tree leaves shone like silver bright,
        The lanterns too were pleasing sight.

James McIntyre

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

Ensilage.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

The Useful Weed.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Reminiscences

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Land Clearing.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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With what a glory comes and goes the year!
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I love the fitful gust that shakes
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Autumn

I love the fitful gust that shakes
The casement all the day,
And from the glossy elm tree takes
The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the window pane
With thousand others down the lane.

I love to see the shaking twig
Dance till the shut of eve,
The sparrow on the cottage rig,
Whose chirp would make believe
That Spring was just now flirting by,
In Summer's lap with flowers to lie.

I love to see the cottage smoke
Curl upwards through the trees,
The pigeons nestled round the cote
On November days like these;
The cock upon the dunghill crowing,
The mill sails on the heath a-going.

The feather from the raven's breast
Falls on the stubble lea,
The acorns near the old crow's nest
Drop pattering down the tree;
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