Classic Poem

Most ontimely old man yit!
 'Pear-like sometimes he jest tries
His fool-self, and takes the bitt
 In his teeth and jest de-fies
All perpryties!—Lay and swet
 Doin' nothin' —only jest
Sorto' speckillatun on
Whare old summer-times is gone,
 And 'bout things that he loved best
When a youngster! Heerd him say
Spring-times made him thataway—
 Speshully on Sund'ys —when
 Sun shines out and in again,
And the lonesome old hens they
 Git off under the old kern-
 Bushes, and in deep concern
Talk-like to theyrselves , and scratch
 Kindo' absunt-minded, jest
Like theyr thoughts was fur away
In some neghbor's gyarden-patch
 Folks has tended keerfulest!
Heerd the old man dwell on these
 Idys time and time again!—
Heerd him claim that orchurd-trees
 Bloomin', put the mischief in
His old hart sometimes that bad
And owdacious that he “ had
 To break loose some way,” says he,
 “Ornry as I ust to be!”

Heerd him say one time—when I
Was a sorto' standin' by,
 And the air so still and clear,
 Heerd the bell fer church clean here!—
Said: “Ef I could climb and set
 On the old three-cornerd rail
Old home-place, nigh Maryette',
 Swap my soul off, hide and tale!”
And-sir! blame ef tear and laugh
Didn't ketch him half and half!
 “Oh!” he says, “to wake and be
Barefoot, in the airly dawn
 In the pastur'!—thare,” says he,
“Standin' whare the cow's slep' on
 The cold, dewy grass that's got
  Print of her jest steamy hot
Fer to warm a feller's heels
In a while!—How good it feels!
 Sund'y!—Country!—Morning!—Hear
Nothin' but the silunce —see
 Nothin' but green woods and clear
Skies and unwrit poetry
By the acre! . . . Oh!” says he,
 “What's this voice of mine?—to seek
 To speak out, and yit can't speak!
“ Think! —the lazyest of days”—
 Takin' his contrairyest leap,
 He went on,—“git up, er sleep—
Er whilse feedin', watch the haze
 Dancin' crost the wheat,—and keep
My pipe goin' leisurely—
Puff and whiff as pleases me,—
 Er I'll leave a trail of smoke
Through the house! —no one'll say
‘ Throw that nasty thing away! ’
 'Pear-like nothin' sacerd's broke,
Goin' barefoot ef I chuse!—
  I have fiddled; —and dug bait
And went fishin'; —pitched hoss-shoes—
Whare they couldn't see us from
The main road.—And I've beat some.
 I've set round and had my joke
With the thrashers at the barn—
And I've swapped 'em yarn fer yarn!—
 Er I've he'pped the childern poke
Fer hens'-nests—agged on a match
'Twixt the boys, to watch 'em scratch
 And paw round and rip and tare,
 And bu'st buttons and pull hair
To theyr rompin' harts' content—
 And me jest a-settin' thare
Hatchin' out more devilment!

 “What you s'pose now ort to be
 Done with sich a man?” says he—
 “Sich a fool-old-man as me!”