Jesse Stuart

Man with a cutter PLOW Ishall be going soon where no one knows: I shall go to my pine pole mountain shack. Before the autumn comes and summer goes, Before leaves fall—I must be going back. I was not made to walk on streets of stone And breathe into [...]

I White clouds are rolling over paradise And over his bare feet that tramp the furrow; He stands and looks with eager watchful eyes And dreams of far-off lands beyond this hollow. His little world encircled by high ridges Is world enough to hol [...]