I heard this poem at church. It was about a rich man passing through the country who stops at a farm to get a drink of water. He falls in love with the woman (whom I think is Maude) who gives him water. And she falls in love with him. But the don't tell each other and the poems ends something to the effect of "Of all the words the sadest are What could've been."

It's by Whittier:

 Maud Muller 
John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892) 
MAUD MULLER on a summer’s day  
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.  
Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth  
Of simple beauty and rustic health.  
Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee         5 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree.  
But when she glanced to the far-off town,  
White from its hill-slope looking down,  
The sweet song died, and a vague unrest  
And a nameless longing filled her breast,—         10 
A wish that she hardly dared to own,  
For something better than she had known.  
The Judge rode slowly down the lane,  
Smoothing his horse’s chestnut mane.  
He drew his bridle in the shade         15 
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,  
And asked a draught from the spring that flowed  
Through the meadow across the road.  
She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,  
And filled for him her small tin cup,         20 
And blushed as she gave it, looking down  
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.  
‘Thanks!’ said the Judge; ‘a sweeter draught  
From a fairer hand was never quaffed.’  
He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,         25 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees;  
Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether  
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.  
And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,  
And her graceful ankles bare and brown;         30 
And listened, while a pleased surprise  
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.  
At last, like one who for delay  
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.  
Maud Muller looked and sighed: ‘Ah me!         35 
That I the Judge’s bride might be!  
‘He would dress me up in silks so fine,  
And praise and toast me at his wine.  
‘My father should wear a broadcloth coat;  
My brother should sail a painted boat.         40 
‘I’d dress my mother so grand and gay,  
And the baby should have a new toy each day.  
‘And I’d feed the hungry and clothe the poor,  
And all should bless me who left our door.’  
The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill         45 
And saw Maud Muller standing still.  
‘A form more fair, a face more sweet,  
Ne’er hath it been my lot to meet.  
‘And her modest answer and graceful air  
Show her wise and good as she is fair.         50 
‘Would she were mine, and I to-day,  
Like her, a harvester of hay;  
‘No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,  
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,  
‘But low of cattle and song of birds,         55 
And health and quiet and loving words.’  
But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,  
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.  
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,  
And Maud was left in the field alone.         60 
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,  
When he hummed in court an old love-tune;  
And the young girl mused beside the well  
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.  
He wedded a wife of richest dower,         65 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.  
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.         70 
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.  
And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain,         75 
‘Ah, that I were free again!  
‘Free as when I rode that day,  
Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.’  
She wedded a man unlearned and poor,  
And many children played round her door.         80 
But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain,  
Left their traces on heart and brain.  
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         85 
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.         90 
Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls  
Stretched away into stately halls;  
The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,  
The tallow candle an astral burned,  
And for him who sat by the chimney lug,         95 
Dozing and grumbling o’er pipe and mug,  
A manly form at her side she saw,  
And joy was duty and love was law.  
Then she took up her burden of life again,  
Saying only, ‘It might have been.’         100 
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,  
For rich repiner and household drudge!  
God pity them both! and pity us all,  
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.  
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,         105 
The saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’  
Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies  
Deeply buried from human eyes;  
And, in the hereafter, angels may  
Roll the stone from its grave away!         110 

Les






Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 05/15/2006 01:12PM by lg.

Thank you!

You may be interested in the following parodies of Maud Muller ... Enjoy !


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.


James Whitcomb RILEY
Parody John Greenleaf WHITTIER - Maud Muller


Maud Muller Mutatur



In 1909 toilet goods were not considered a serious matter and no special department of the catalogs were devoted to it. A few perfumes and creams were scattered here and there among bargain goods. In 1919 an assortment of perfumes that would rival any city department store is shown, along with six pages of other toilet articles, including rouge and eyebrow pencils.

--From "How the Farmer Has Changed in a Decade: Toilet Goods," in Farm and Fireside's advertisement

Maud Muller on a summer's day,
Powdered her nose with Bon Sachet.

Beneath her lingerie hat appeared
Eyebrows and cheeks that were well veneered.

Singing she rocked on the front piazz,
To the tune of "The Land of the Sky Blue Jazz."

But the song expired on the summer air,
And she said, "This won't get me anywhere."

The Judge in his car looked up at her
And signalled "Stop!" to his brave chauffeur.

He smiled a smile that is known as broad,
And he said to Miss Muller, "Hello, how's Maud?"

"What sultry weather is this? Gee whiz!"
Said Maud. Said the Judge, "I'll say it is."

"Your coat is heavy. Why don't you shed it?
Have a drink?" said Maud. Said the Judge, "You said it."

And Maud, with the joy of bucolic youth,
Blended some gin and some French vermouth.

Maud Muller sighed, as she poured the gin,
"I've got something on Whittier's heroine."

"Thanks," said the judge, "a peppier brew
From a fairer hand was never knew."

And when the judge had had number 7,
Maud seemed an angel direct from Heaven.

And the judge declared, "You're a lvoely girl,
An' I'm for you Maudie, I'll tell the worl'."

And the judge said, "Marry me, Maudie dearie?"
And Maud said yes to the well known query.

And she often thinks, in her rustic way,
As she powders her nose with Bon Sachet,

"I never'n the world would a' got that guy,
If I'd waited till after the First o' July.

And of all glad words of prose or rhyme,
The gladdest are, "Act while there yet is time."



Franklin Pierce ADAMS Parody John Greenleaf WHITTIER Maud Miller


Mrs. Judge Jenkins




Maud Miller all that summer day
Raked the meadows sweet with hay;
Yet, looking down the distant lane,
She hoped the Judge would come again.
But when he came, with smile and bow,
Maud only blushed, and stammered, "Ha-ow?"
And spoke of her "pa," and wondered whether
He'd give consent they should wed together.
Old Muller burst into tears, and then
Begged that the Judge would lend him "ten";
For trade was dull, and wages low,
And the "craps", this year, were somewhat slow.
And ere the languid summer died,
Sweet Maud became the Judge's bride.
But on the day that they were mated,
Maud's brother Bob was intoxicated;
And Maud's relations, twelve in all,
Were very drunk in the Judge's hall.
And when the summer came again,
The young bride bore him babies twain;
And the Judge was blest, but thought it strange
That bearing children made such a change;
For Maud grew broad and red and stout,
And the waist that his arm once clasped about
Was more than he now could span: and he
Sighed as he pondered, ruefully,
How that which in Maud was native grace
In Mrs. Jenkins was out of place;
And thought of the twins, and wished that they
Looked less like the men who raked the hay
On Muller's farm, and dreamed with pain
Of the day he wandered down the lane.
And, looking down that dreary track,
He half regretted that he came back;
For, had he waited, he might have wed
Some maiden fair and thoroughbred;
For there be women fair as she,
Whose verbs and nouns do more agree.
Alas for maiden! alas for judge!
Add the sentimental, -- that's one-half "fudge";
For Maud soon thought the Judge a bore,
With all his learning and all his lore;
And the Judge would have bartered Maud's fair face
For more refinement and social grace.
If, of all words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are, "It might have been,"
More sad are these we daily see:
"It is, but hadn't ought to be."




Bret HARTE Parody John Greenleaf WHITTIER - Maud Muller

Thanks so much for those, Jonathan - I have a soft spot for and collect parodies and hadn't seen any of those before.