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THE GOLDEN AGE
The sun slants wann on the fragr ant field,
And the old town's full with the summe r's yield.
The dry dirt road ~~nds over the hill;
Ol d homes .long it, stately and still,
Sheltered from noonday un der the trees
Are undistu rbed save for humming of bees.
Beyond the shade in the he at of the day
The tall fi e ld grasses gen t ly sway.
Bird songs warble on the aimless air,
And above . i s the blue sky, wide and fair.
Un der the bridge flows the listless brook
Past t he dry stones it lately fo r so ok,
Leaving its moss all shriveled end b r own,
Sc.arce seeping through where once it splashed down.
In pe ace and quiet the ol d town li es
Under New Eng land's summe r skies;
In the fragrant fields chirp the cricket s shril 1,
W e the ol d town dr eams a long t he hill-hil
The whole world basks in the mellow haze,
An d who can be sad in these golden days?
The new-movm hay lies sweet in the sun,
The mower has stoppe d with its swath ha lf done.
The farmer le an s on his mower, and now,
W ping the sweat from his weary brow,
i
Rests, an d of his cool ci der deeply drinks,
And ga zing on the distant hi l ls, he thinks.
A hay-wagon creakin~ down t h e road
In the he at and the dus t with a he avy lo ad-Slowl y the horse shambles t11rough the heat,
¥lh ile with lagging rein end. dangling feet,
Th rough the mellow sunli ght of afternoon,
SQftly humm.ui.g an aimless t u e,
Henry rides homeward t o the f.arm
For to stow the mowing in the barn.
--Then he restlessly looks at the sky and the trees,
And leaning f orward intent t o seize
Th e li ght that h as flashed across his mind,
Grasping the gl eam, he leaves a ll behind:
W
ith halting breath and eager look
He tremblingly dr aws in a litt le book;
Then speeding up t he old g ray horse,
Homeward he takes his eager course.
W
hile with lusty strokes he stows the hay,
Throu gh the open door st reams the fadin g day,
And t he cool air stirs as the west grows red,
And the blue sky deep ens overhead.
---Bent o'er his desk with his draftsman's tools,
Carefully Henry plots and rules;
W
hile above in the shadow stand al 1 in a row,
W e the la.mp shines up on Cicero
her
And f a nn books, poetry and many things;
And somewhere in the dark a lone cricket sings.
And in the lamp's flickering yellow li ght
Henry l abors on deep in t he night.
W t h the folks gath:red round on Saturday ni ght
i
�In the old pa rsonage , cheery and bri ght,
in a corner beside th e open door,
W
hile all make r eady and cl ear the f loor
-- The rug ged plank floor that their fathers l aid-Benry tunes up on II The W e Cockade" •
hit
.And long and gay in that Sat urday ni ght
His ac cordion's notes swell full and bri ght.
--Sunday morning, clear and cool.
Henry continues to plot and rule:
For the dream of his life has at last come true
In a won drous li ght t hat is gre at and new.
ith quick neat stroke s and eager look
He lays out his Vehicle from the little book.
-- Then Sunday church, then a friendly chat,
Of the Vehicle, crops, and this and that---A second-hand chassis in the shed,
And a first-hand ide a in Henry's head:
From his work in t he sunshine 'mid haystacks and ears
He toils in the dusk over levers and gears;
Che ered on by a ll, for his triumph is theirs,
He earnestly l abors and drills and r epairs;
Unt il on a glorious mello day
Henry puts his tools away.
W
ith the doors f lung wide, and glad and proud,
H drives into the li ght 'mid the happy crowd
e
Whe re all wait outside the b arn in the sun-Henry 's Vehicle at last is done!
Tail! Hai l! Hail! to our Henry's front wheel drive !
Hai l! Hail ! Hail! to the works of th em that strive!
Hail ! Hai l! Hail! e.s s u re as I'm a-live!
In triumph
Comes Henry
In his homemade vehicle!
A flood of joy fills a ll as down
The r oad drive s Henry through the town;
For t he end of his struggles, de fe at s and fears
Has come in the g l ad climax of weary years-He st eps on the throttle and lets he r roll,
For summe r is so a ring in his soul:
Through many tests, and with many lo ads
W
ildly he drives on the ol d dirt roads;
Or they listen, beside him in the se at,
To Henry colorfully exple.in his feat.
-- Then Henry's busy for many a day,
M
aking ready to go away.
He stows the mowing and closes the f a rm,
And lo ads the Vehicle out in the barn;
And for one last night his accordion's sound
In the parsonage gathe r s the folks around.
Then in the misty co olnes s of the morn,
Silent, and a bit forlorn,
W
hile Henry works busily over hi s c ar,
Shuffling about or gazing af ar,
Or stooping curiously to inspect a whee l,
Th e folks gathered round a strange loneliness feel-And loud sing the crickets ac ross the va le,
And long int o th e du sk li e s Henry' s trail.
W
ith r attle and ro ar he wave s good.by
To the farm, the f olks , the trees, the sky-A
cross the blue hills whe r e th e haze hangs cu rled,
Henr y ha s gone to convince the world!
�Gone
Away into the sunset,
Gone
As sure as I'm a live,
Gone
In his rickety invention-Henry 's gone to sell 'em
His
front
wheel
drive!
A great s a d , ideness the whole wor ld fills
As Henr y drives on o'er the lone dark hills
Into the suns et's gold and rose,
W ere a ll cross the west there goes
h
In the fa ding glare of the twili ght's close
The road whose ending no man knows •
.And in the dawn-mist before the busy day
Along the quiet highway he take s his way.
Down the strait long roa d the world re e ls by
And the eng ine drones and his hopes sing high,
Until 'neath the vaulting smoky skies,
Behold! t he City before him lies-And a ll is vast and strange and shattering
And ro ar and dust and s peed and clattering.
But the hall is dim and quiet inside
As the doors swing shut on Henry's stride-1'Vi th f ast-be ating heart and quick-se eking look
,
Ie seeks out a number from the little book;
Till th rough a dingy window he looks do-wn far
To where, parke d and locked, there stands his Car.
Then he nervously ' sits in the ancient chair
.And gaz e s with racing thoughts to whe re,
Behind the ground- glassed pane lled door,
The fate of the Vehicle lies in store;
He views mag azines on the table a ll in a ow,
But he t ak es from his pocket--Cic ero!
-- Then l ong behind the ground glass pane,
Elo quently Henry expla ins--in vain.
Painfully Henry turns to go-A moment he stays, and in his woe
Smiling sadl y , he murmurs low,
"Cicero, the ans, er is no!"
--Out unde the dark and lowering sky,
Where the worl d and the gusty wind roar by,
A d a million li ghts glare in the dark
n
And the skyscr ape rs tower black and stark,
Henry continues t o despe r ately strive,
And eloquently l ays forth his front wheel dr i ve;
But drearily hope and money go,
And he turns away, for the answer is No:
Until on a raw and indy day
He .st a rts on the we.ary homev ard way .
Under the weeping drizzly sky
The pu ddles and hot do g stands reel by;
The road lies black and wet ahead
And fumes of exhaust and oil spre ad
He avily o'er the monotonous lines
Of traffic, and dripping highway signs.
And s a dly back to the shut up farm,
Sadly into the shadowy b arn
�Henry drives; and gathe red round
That ni ght, they hear not his accordion ' s sound,
But wearily he tells his tale
How the dream of his life has come to fail-And of Henry'8 sorrow each feels his pa rt,
For ea.ch shares t he darkness of his h eart--Come
From out the misty distance,
Come
As sure as I'm alive,
Gome
Ba ck from the wondrous City-But Henry didn't sel l ' t=>.In
His front wheel drive.
Bowed o'er his desk in the dark and gloom
Henry laments his vehicle' s doom.
His s a d gaze wanders to his draftsman's tools
.And his books and compasses and rules,
A he mournfully shelves friend Cicero;
nd
And then on his accordion wailin low-The old tune he h a s so often played-Henry l ays softly "The White C0 ckade 11 •
On the Vehicle the sun has set;
Still--light and life lie before him yet-And "The White C0 ckade 11 swells out once more,
And once more Henry's ambitions soar
--Whither, is more than Henry lmows-But he rises, and to his de sk he goes,
W
onde r ing, with s1:Bpuncertain and slow,
And musing up at Cicero;
Pencil in hand, his inspiration grows,
Till fort h on the page his Philosophy flows:
And in poetry, keen and swift and bold,
His thought, his world, himself unfold-And the folks wonder rapt at his poetry,
.And they smile with Henry's Philosophy---Then the Vehicle come s on a wild bright ride,
And Henry's success fires t h e countryside-For the world Receives his poetry
And Henry's new triumph ha s come to be!
Hail! Hail! Hail! to our Henry's poetry!
Hail! Hail! Hail! to the works of them that see!
Hail! Hail! Hail! to his Philosophy!
In triumph
Comes Henry
In his homemade vehicle!
!My wife h a d a cow.
My wife h a d a cow.
M wife h a d a cow.
y
This is the forest primeval,
M wife had a cow.
y
If some poets were only bene ath it,
M wife had a cow.
y
Gloria in excelsis, no end,
( M wife had a cow)?
y
That's poetry, Henry--you and I
Have watche d our golden age go by.
You drowse on your white porch on the h i ll
�.
.. ........
And look dorm across on the old town still,
And the mist on the blue hills far away
Leads you away to another day:
You contemplate what you have done,
As with thoughtful brow you muse in the sun-Of the Vehicle and poetry,
And things that h ave happened to you and me.
And the old town dreams along the hill,
O'er the fragrant fields chirp the crickets shrill,
Swallows ride on the lazy breeze,
And the flowers nod to the hum of the bees.
In simple quiet the old town lies
Under New England's sunnner skies.
The wagon creaking vrith its load,
The rattle of old Fords down the road,
The mower's clack in the sweet new hay,
The fanner's chores pass the day away.
Far away in the summe r sun
·
You gaze on life, for your part is done.
Saturday eve your accordion's sound
In the parsonage gathers the folks around,
And "The W
hite Cocka de" is heard once more,
And the old tunes flow from your memory's store;
And you smile as t hey dance to your music's call,
Happy and revered and loved by all.
---The light glares dovm on Cicero,
And I fret at the words that I do not know.
Bent o'er the desk, I calculate
(His rebus gestis for the state)
But cannot solve, though oft have tried;
(The wind howls dark and cold outside).
Cicero, to· hell N
ith you!
Thunderbox, tell me something new-To ''The W
hite Cockade" my weary mind
As the old tune reels t hrough the wooden slats
Umrittingly leaves my Woes behind.
I wander back t o a summer day,
To the sun on the gre en hills far away.
Hen r y, I see you live and strive,
Henry, I ride in your front wheel drive-Together we ride through our old town
Into the west as the sun goes down-Together, Henry, you and I
Watch our golden age go by---PROGRFSS blares, and My Baby s Eyes
Have taken me, Henry, by surprise!
Tell me, Henry, --there clangs the bell;
M friend, in sil ence then,---f arewell!
y
M
arch 1930
�
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Title
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Documents, Articles, Other Printed Material
Description
An account of the resource
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Golden Age, The (Poem, March 1930)
Description
An account of the resource
A poem dated March, 1930. This document was in the Granville Center News file. References suggest the author was one of the individuals associated with publishing the News. The most likely author seems to be Gil Stevenson.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
March, 1930
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
Granville Public Library Historical Room
Granville
Granville Center News
Massachusetts
Stevenson
The Golden Age