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 brace him up.' So the cup was filled With the crystal wine that old spring spilled; And she gave it him with a sun-browned hand. 'Thanks,' said the judge in accents bland; 'A thousand thanks! for a sweeter draught, From a fairer hand'--but there he laughed. And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day, And raked the judge instead of the hay.