I watched him from my garden-wall
Perhaps an hour or more,
For something in his attitude,
The clothes he wore,
Awoke the dimmest memories
Of when I was a boy
And knew the story of a man
Named Reuben Roy.
It seems that Reuben went to sea
The night his wife decried
The fence he built before their house
And up the side.
He wanted it but she did not,
Because it hid from view
The spot in which her mignonette
And tulips grew.
Nobody saw his face again,
But each year, unawares,
He sent a sum for taxes due-
And fence repairs.
My curiosity aroused,
I sauntered forth to see
Whether this individual
Were really he.
"Who are you looking for?" I asked
His eyes, like two bright pence,
Sparkled at mine; and then he said:
"A fence."
"Somebody burned it Hallowe'en,
When people were in bed;
Before the judge could prosecute,
The culprit fled."
Well, Reuben only touched his hat
And mumbled, "Thank you, Sir,"
And asked me whereabouts to find
A carpenter.
HAROLD CRAWFORD STEARNS
COUNTRY ROAD
I CAN'T forget a gaunt grey barn
Like a face without an eye
That kept recurring by field and tarn
Under a Cape Cod sky.
I can't forget a woman's hand,
Roughened and scarred by toil
That beckoned clear-eyed children tanned
By sun and wind and soil.
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