Thoughts Fer the Discuraged Farmer
The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin'locus' trees;And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees,And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on thesly,Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly.The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on hiswingsAnd roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings;And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz,And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is.
You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up theplow--Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr nota-carin' how;So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on thewing--But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing:And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest,She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest;And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin'right,Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite!
They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day,And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away,And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greenerstill;It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will.Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drowndedout,And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt;But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet,Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet!
Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high anddryThrough the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky?Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way,Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day?Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?--Does he walk, er doeshe run?Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare just like they'veallus done?Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs ervoice?Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice?
Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot;The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot.Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day,And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away!Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide,Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied;Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew,And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer meand you.
Words in this poem
- stutter v. t.
- To hesitate or stumble in uttering words; to speak with spasmodic repetition or pauses; to stammer. [Freq. of stut, OE. stoten; probably of Dutch or Low German origin; cf. D. & LG. stotteren, G. stottern, D. stooten to push, to strike; akin to G. stossen, Icel.]
- flicker v. i.
- To flutter; to flap the wings without flying. [OE. flikeren, flekeren, to flutter, AS. flicerian, flicorian, cf. D. flikkeren to sparkle. Flacker.]
- jest n.
- A deed; an action; a gest. [OE. jeste, geste, deed, action, story, tale, OF. geste, LL. gesta, orig., exploits, neut. pl. from L. gestus, p. p. of gerere to bear, carry, accomplish, perfor]
- shotgun n.
- A light, smooth-bored gun, often double-barreled, especially designed for firing small shot at short range, and killing small game.
- stiddy n.
- An anvil; also, a smith shop. See Stithy. [See Stithy.]
- shots n.
- The refuse of cattle taken from a drove.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Thoughts Fer the Discuraged Farmer is in the public domain. This text is taken from Riley Farm-Rhymes, Project Gutenberg ebook #4783; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: James Whitcomb Riley, Thoughts Fer the Discuraged Farmer, in Riley Farm-Rhymes (1883–1901), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #4783, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/riley-farm-rhymes/thoughts-fer-the-discuraged-farmer.html, id L01952.
Form and metre
Thoughts Fer the Discuraged Farmer is 54 lines in 5 stanzas. The metre is iambic heptameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 78%). 96% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.5 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 26% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic heptameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -AA-BBCDDCC bloomin · treesA · beesA · the · slyB · flyB · hisC · wingsD · singsD · bizC · isC
- 2 AB-BACCDD-EE theA · plowB · not · howB · theA · wingC · thingC · restD · nestD · shinin · rightE · appetiteE
- 3 AA-BB-CCDD dayA · awayA · greener · stillB · willB · drownded · outC · doubtC · yetD · betD
- 4 -AABB-C-C-DD and · dryA · skyA · wayB · dayB · does · runC · they've · doneC · er · voiceD · rejoiceD
- 5 AABBCCD-D lotA · hotA · dayB · awayB · guideC · satisfiedC · dewD · me · youD
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic heptameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| locus' trees; | 3 | /˘· |
| And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, | 15 | ··/˘··········· |
| And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the | 14 | ······/˘······ |
| sly, | 1 | · |
| Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. | 14 | ··/˘·····/˘··· |
| The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his | 13 | ·/˘·········· |
| wings | 1 | · |
| And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings; | 13 | ····/˘··/˘··· |
| And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, | 15 | ··············· |
| And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. | 14 | ·············· |
| You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the | 14 | ····/˘········ |
| plow-- | 1 | · |
| Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not | 11 | ··········· |
| a-carin' how; | 4 | ·/˘· |
| So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the | 14 | ··/˘··/˘··/˘·· |
| wing-- | 1 | · |
| But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing: | 14 | ·········/˘/˘· |
| And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, | 14 | ······/····/˘· |
| She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; | 15 | ············/˘· |
| And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' | 14 | ······/˘······ |
| right, | 1 | · |
| Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite! | 15 | ······/˘··/˘/˘· |
| They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, | 12 | ············ |
| And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, | 12 | ··········˘/ |
| And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener | 14 | ······/˘····/˘ |
| still; | 1 | · |
| It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. | 14 | ···˘/·/˘······ |
| Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded | 12 | ·····/˘····· |
| out, | 1 | · |
| And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt; | 14 | ·········/˘··· |
| But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, | 13 | ···/˘˘··/˘··· |
| Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! | 14 | ··········/˘·· |
| Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and | 12 | ············ |
| dry | 1 | · |
| Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? | 12 | ············ |
| Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, | 15 | ··············· |
| Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day? | 13 | ········/˘··· |
| Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'?--Does he walk, er does | 13 | ············· |
| he run? | 2 | ·· |
| Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare just like they've | 12 | ··/˘········ |
| allus done? | 3 | ··· |
| Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er | 14 | ··/˘··/˘··/˘·· |
| voice? | 1 | · |
| Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice? | 15 | ··········/˘˘˘/ |
| Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot; | 14 | ···········/˘· |
| The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. | 14 | ·····/˘····/˘· |
| Oh! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, | 15 | ····/˘····/˘··· |
| And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away! | 14 | ·/˘······/˘·˘/ |
| Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, | 14 | ·/˘·/˘/˘·/˘˘·· |
| Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; | 13 | ··/˘·˘····/˘· |
| Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, | 15 | ······/˘··/˘··· |
| And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me | 14 | ······/˘˘····· |
| and you. | 2 | ·· |
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