Maud muller poem. Maud Muller, by John Greenleaf Whittier 2022-12-16
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Maud Muller is a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier that tells the story of a young woman named Maud who is working in the fields on her farm when a judge comes by and asks her to fetch him some water. Maud obliges and the judge is struck by her beauty and simplicity. He reflects on how he, as a man of wealth and status, has neglected the simple pleasures of life and has instead pursued power and success.
The poem suggests that Maud, as a poor farmer, has a deep appreciation for the beauty and simplicity of life, something that the judge has lost sight of in his pursuit of wealth and power. The judge is envious of Maud's contentment and wishes he could trade places with her, but he knows it is too late to turn back.
The poem is a commentary on the idea that true happiness and contentment can be found in simple pleasures, rather than in the pursuit of wealth and power. It suggests that the judge has sacrificed his happiness in his pursuit of these things, and that Maud, despite her humble circumstances, has found true contentment in the simple joys of life.
Overall, Maud Muller is a poignant and thought-provoking poem that speaks to the idea that true happiness and fulfillment can be found in the simple things in life, rather than in the pursuit of power and wealth. It encourages us to appreciate the beauty and simplicity of life and to find joy in the small, everyday moments that make up our lives.
Maud Muller Illustrated
The Quaker poet of Amesbury. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And ask a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring brook fall Over the roadside, through a wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein; And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring brook fall Over the roadside, through a wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein; And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face. The story, legend says, was inspired by a summer trip to coastal Maine. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring brook fall Over the roadside, through a wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein; And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face. In 1909 toilet goods were not considered a serious matter and no special department of the catalogs were devoted to it.
At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. Although the poem appears widely on the Web, our version includes the illustrations by Irish-born W J Hennessy 1839-1917 from the 1867 gift book. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. Oft when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead; And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And ask a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. Maud Muller on a summer's day Raked the meadow sweet with hay.
He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleee The mock-bird echoed from his tree. At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup, And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power.
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, And Maud was left in the field alone. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, Left their traces on heart and brain. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring brook fall Over the roadside, through a wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein; And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face.
She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup, And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. Oft when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead; And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. In 1909 toilet goods were not considered a serious matter and no special department of the catalogs were devoted to it. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. Maud Muller on a summer's day Raked the meadow sweet with hay. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. A few perfumes and creams were scattered here and there among bargain goods.
Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleee The mock-bird echoed from his tree. Maud wants the Judge and the judge wants her. Although the poem appears widely on the Web, our version includes the illustrations by Irish-born W J Hennessy 1839-1917 from the 1867 gift book. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, He watched a picture come and go: And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls; The weary wheel to a spinet turned, The tallow candle an astral burned, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. That I the Judge's bride might be! He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road.
Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead; And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls; The weary wheel to a spinet turned, The tallow candle an astral burned, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls Stretched away into stately halls; The weary wheel to a spinet turned, The tallow candle an astral burned, And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. You should visit the pages below. He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road. He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power.
And oft, when the summer sun shone hot On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, And she heard the little spring brook fall Over the roadside, through the wall, In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein, And, gazing down with timid grace, She felt his pleased eyes read her face. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup, And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown And her graceful ankles bare and brown; And listened, while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health. He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, He longed for the wayside well instead; And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road.
