Famous Hoeing Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Hoeing poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous hoeing poems. These examples illustrate what a famous hoeing poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Tynan, Katharine
...Here in the garden-bed,
Hoeing the celery,
Wonders the Lord has made
Pass ever before me.
I see the young birds build,
And swallows come and go,
And summer grow and gild,
And winter die in snow.
Many a thing I note,
And store it in my mind,
For all my ragged coat
That scarce will stop the wind.
I light my pipe and draw,
And, leaning on my spade,
I marvel with...Read more of this...
by
Lowell, Amy
...in his joy
At showing what he had found.
One day the master of the village school
Passed him as he stooped at toil,
Hoeing for a bean-row, and at his side
Was the vase, on the turned-up soil.
"My friend," said the schoolmaster, pompous and
kind,
"That's a valuable thing you have there,
But it might get broken out of doors,
It should meet with the utmost care.
What are you doing with it out here?"
"Why, Sir," said the poor old man,
"I like to have it about, do you...Read more of this...
by
Service, Robert William
...br> .
Snap out, you fool! Don't let down God.
Oh, yes, you're on misfortune's shift,
And weary is the row your hoeing;
You have no home, you drift and drift,
Seems folks don't care the way you're going . . .
Well, make them care - you're not afraid:
Step on the gas - you'll make the grade.
Believe that God has faith in you,
In you His loving light is shining;
All of you that is fine and true
Is part of Him, so quit your whining . . .
buck...Read more of this...
by
Whitman, Walt
...d their wives
waiting,
The female soothing a child—the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn—the sleigh-driver guiding his six horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured,
native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown, after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and the under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eye...Read more of this...
by
Service, Robert William
...may not have a brace of bucks to jingle in your jeans,
Far less the dough to buy a motor car;
But though the row you're hoeing
May be grim, ungodly going,
If you think the skies are glowing -
Then they are.
For a poor man may be wealthy and a millionaire may fail,
It all depends upon the point of view.
It's the sterling of your spirit tips the balance of the scale,
It's optimism, and it's up to you.
For what I figure as success is simple Happiness,
The consummat...Read more of this...
by
Goose, Mother
... My maid Mary she minds the dairy, While I go a-hoeing and mowing each morn;Gaily run the reel and the little spinning wheel, While I am singing and mowing my corn....Read more of this...
by
Whitman, Walt
...ing with
lumbermen;
Along the ruts of the turnpike—along the dry gulch and rivulet bed;
Weeding my onion-patch, or hoeing rows of carrots and parsnips—crossing
savannas—trailing in forests;
Prospecting—gold-digging—girdling the trees of a new purchase;
Scorch’d ankle-deep by the hot sand—hauling my boat down the shallow
river;
Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead—where the buck turns
furiously at the hunter;
Where the rattlesnake suns his fl...Read more of this...
by
Du Bois, W. E. B.
...nd drunken orgies of war,—
down
down
deep down,
Till the devil's strength be shorn,
Till some dim, darker David, a-hoeing of his corn,
And married maiden, mother of God,
Bid the black Christ be born!
Then shall our burden be manhood,
Be it yellow or black or white;
And poverty and justice and sorrow,
The humble, and simple and strong
Shall sing with the sons of morning
And daughters of even-song:
Black mother of the iron hills that ward the blazing sea,
Wild sp...Read more of this...
by
Hughes, Ted
...Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.
Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasphed fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up
From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of b...Read more of this...
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