Maud Muller

(by John Greenleaf Whittier) Maud Muller, on a summer's day,Raked the meadows sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealthOf simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleeThe 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 …