And Reuben ploughs the hill for corn: I thought it would be tough;
But now I see the furrows turned, I guess it’s dry enough.
I’m glad I built this southern porch; my chair seems easier here:
I haven’t seen as fine a spring this five and twenty year.
And how the time goes round so quick: a week I would have sworn,
Since they were husking on the flat, and now they plough for corn!
Across the level Brown’s new place begins to make a show;
I thought he’d have to wait for trees, but, bless me, how they grow!
They say it’s fine—two acres filled with evergreens and things;
But so much land! it worries me, for not a cent it brings.