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Show i c 1 . . (Uncle Walt ' The Poet Philosopher t ' THE rOTTES' FIELD" ' This la the corner of tba dead. Tht fraas la sfghln aa 1t waves. The nlht la falling- aa I tread among tha low. nag-lactatj nag-lactatj grawa.. I knew tha tnn who lumber lum-ber bar, who. attest, wait the Judgment morn, each retting on hta pauper bier , the harvest home of Barleycorn. I knew thtm In tha gllaed bare, and heard them Ing the night away; but now, beneath the autumn atara, the gilt haa turned to graveduet iry. I knew them are they learned tha woea that follow waaaatl, and the acorn; and here they lie. In ghaatly row, the harvest home of Barleycorn. I knew them when they had their dreana of honor, uaefulneaa and fame; and now the ailver atarttght. gleams upon their hermitage of ehaiae. And other reveler i may keep their vigils with tha diinklnv horn; hut through tha night the dead men lep, tha harvest home of Barleycorn. Barley-corn. No weeping widows seek 4hfs place to pray above their loved and lost; no mother bends her plotia face above tha dead hands wnltely crossed. Hera desolation deso-lation reigns and broods, and all tha landscape land-scape la forlorn. The dead men In their sol it tide tha windrows of John Barley corn! Copyrisht. ltl. by (Mora MaUbaw |