Modern Maud Muller.

Maud Muller on a summer's day,
    Raked the meadows, sweet with hay.
Nor was this just a grand-stand play;
    Maud got a rake-off, so they say.

Edwin C. Ranck

Edwin C. Ranck was an American lyricist noted for his work in the early 20th century. He was a prolific writer and his lyrics were often characterized by their humor and wit. One of his standout works is the poem 'The Optimist', which reflects his positive outlook on life. Beyond that, little is known about his personal life or career. He remains a somewhat obscure figure in literary history.

Edwin C. Ranck

My Life And Death.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

If I Were City Editor.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

Farewell Snow.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

The Processional.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

That Other Maud Muller

Maud Muller worked at making hay,
And cleared her forty cents a day.

Her clothes were coarse, but her health was fine,
And so she worked in the sweet sunshine

Singing as glad as a bird in May
"Barbara Allen" the livelong day.

She often glanced at the far-off town,
And wondered if eggs were up or down.

And the sweet song died of a strange disease,
Leaving a phantom taste of cheese,

And an appetite and a nameless ache
For soda-water and ginger cake.

The judge rode slowly into view -
Stopped his horse in the shade and threw

His fine-cut out, while the blushing Maud
Marveled much at the kind he "chawed."

"He was dry as a fish," he said with a wink,
"And kind o' thought that a good square drink

Would b...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Mullein Meadow.

    Down in the mullein meadow
    The lusty thistle springs,
    The butterflies go criss-cross,
    The lonesome catbird sings,

    The alderbush is flaunting
    Her blossoms white as snow -
    The same old mullein meadow
    We played in long ago.

    The waste land of the homestead,
    The arid sandy spot,
    Where reaper's song is never heard,
    Where wealth is never sought,

    But where the sunshine lingers,
    And merry breezes come
    To gather pungent perfumes
    From the mullein-stalks abloom.

    There's a playground on the hillside,
    A playhouse in the glade,
    With mulleins for a garden,
    And mulleins for a shade.

    And still the farmer grumbles
    That nothing good will g...

Jean Blewett

Mrs. Judge Jenkins

Maud Muller all that summer day
Raked the meadow sweet with hay;

Yet, looking down the distant lane,
She hoped the Judge would come again.

But when he came, with smile and bow,
Maud only blushed, and stammered, Ha-ow?

And spoke of her pa, and wondered whether
Hed give consent they should wed together.

Old Muller burst in tears, and then
Begged that the Judge would lend him ten;

For trade was dull, and wages low,
And the craps, this year, were somewhat slow.

And ere the languid summer died,
Sweet Maud became the Judges bride.

But on the day that they were mated,
Mauds brother Bob was intoxicated;

And Mauds relations, twelve in all,
Were very drunk at the Judges hall.

And when the summe...

Bret Harte

Summer Evening

The sandy cat by the Farmer's chair
Mews at his knee for dainty fare;
Old Rover in his moss-greened house
Mumbles a bone, and barks at a mouse
In the dewy fields the cattle lie
Chewing the cud 'neath a fading sky
Dobbin at manger pulls his hay:
Gone is another summer's day.

Walter De La Mare

To Clara Morris.

In days gone by, the poets wrote
    Sweet verses to the ladies fair;
Described the nightingale's clear note,
    Or penned an Ode to Daphne's hair.

To dare all for a woman's smile
    Or breathe one's heart out in a rose--
Such trifles now are out of style,
    The scented manuscript must close.

Yet Villon wrote his roundelays,
    And that sweet singer Horace;
But I will sing of other days
    In praise of Clara Morris.

Youth is but the joy of life,
    Not the eternal moping;
We get no happiness from strife
    Nor yet by blindly groping.

All the world's a stage you know
    The men and women actors;
A little joy, a little woe--
    These are but human factors.

The mellow days still come and go,
    The...

Edwin C. Ranck

Portrait by a Neighbor

Before she has her floor swept
    Or her dishes done,
Any day you'll find her
    A-sunning in the sun!

It's long after midnight
    Her key's in the lock,
And you never see her chimney smoke
    Till past ten o'clock!

She digs in her garden
    With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
    By the light of the moon,

She walks up the walk
    Like a woman in a dream,
She forgets she borrowed butter
    And pays you back cream!

Her lawn looks like a meadow,
    And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
    And the Queen Anne's lace!

Edna St. Vincent Millay