Farm Ballads

Farm Ballads is a rather influential volume of poetry by American poet Will Carleton. The poems are concerning rural life in Michigan, where the poet grew up and spent much of his life before eventually moving to Boston.


By : Will Carleton (1845 - 1912)

01 - Preface



02 - Betsey and I Are Out



03 - How Betsey and I Made Up



04 - Gone with a Handsomer Man



05 - Johnny Rich



06 - Out of the Old House, Nancy



07 - Over the Hill to the Poor-House



08 - Over the Hill from the Poor-House



09 - Uncle Sammy



10 - Tom was Goin' for a Poet



11 - Goin' Home To-Day



12 - Out o' the Fire



13 - The New Church Organ



14 - The Editor's Guests



15 - The House where We were Wed



16 - Our Army of the Dead



17 - Apple-Blossoms



18 - Apples Growing



19 - One and Two



20 - The Fading Flower



21 - Autumn Days



22 - Death-Doomed



23 - Up the Line



24 - How we Kept the Day


These poems have been written under various, and, in some cases, difficult, conditions: in the open air, "with team afield;" in the student's den, with the ghosts of unfinished lessons hovering gloomily about; amid the rush and roar of railroad travel, which trains of thought are not prone to follow; and in the editor's sanctum, where the dainty feet of the Muses do not often deign to tread.

Crude and unfinished as they are, the author has yet had the assurance to publish them, from time to time, in different periodicals, in which, it is but just to admit, they have been met by the people with unexpected favor. While his judgment has often failed to endorse the kind words spoken for them, he has naturally not felt it in his heart to file any remonstrances.

He has been asked, by friends in all parts of the country, to put his poems into a more durable form than they have hitherto possessed; and it is in accordance with these requests that he now presents "Farm Ballads" to the public.

Of course he does not expect to escape, what he needs so greatly, the discipline of severe criticism; for he is aware that he has often wandered out of the beaten track, and has many times been too regardless of the established rules of rhythm, in his (oftentimes vain) search for the flowers of poesy.

But he believes that The People are, after all, the true critics, and will soon ascertain whether there are more good than poor things in a book; and whatever may be their verdict in this case, he has made up his mind to be happy.

W. C.

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