{"id":7915,"date":"2022-01-31T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-01-31T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=7915"},"modified":"2022-01-31T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2022-01-31T06:00:00","slug":"the-fiddlers-farewell","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/the-fiddlers-farewell\/","title":{"rendered":"The Fiddler’s Farewell"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From the <\/em>Omaha Daily Bee, January 31, 1914<\/em><\/a>. By Alfred Noyes.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

With my fiddle to my shoulder,
    And my hair turning gray,
And my heart growing older
    I must shuffle on my way!
Tho\u2019 there\u2019s not a hearth to greet me
    I must reap as I sowed,
And the sunset shall meet me
    At the turn of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, the whin\u2019s a dusky yellow
    And the road a rosy white,
And the blackbird\u2019s call is mellow
    At the falling of the night;
And there\u2019s honey in the heather
    Where we\u2019ll make our last abode,
My tunes and me together
    At the turn of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have fiddled for your city
    Thro\u2019 market place and inn!
I have poured forth my pity
    On your sorrow and your sin!
But your riches are your burden,
    And your pleasure is your goad!
I\u2019ve the whin-gold for guerdon
    At the turn of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your village lights\u2019ll call me
    As the lights of home the dead;
But a black night befall me
    Ere your pillows rest my head;
God be praised, tho\u2019 like a jewel
    Every cottage casement showed,
There\u2019s a star that\u2019s not so cruel!
    At the turn of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nay, beautifully and kindly
    Are the faces drawing nigh,
But I gaze on them blindly
    And hasten, hasten by;
For O, no face of wonder
    On earth has ever glowed
Like the One that waits me yonder
    At the turn of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her face is lit with splendor,
    She dwells beyond the skies;
But deep, deep and tender
    Are the tears in her eyes;
The angels see them glistening
    In pity for my load,
And\u2014she\u2019s waiting there, she\u2019s listening
    At the turn of the road.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From the Omaha Daily Bee, January 31, 1914. By Alfred Noyes. With my fiddle to my shoulder,    And my hair turning gray,And my heart growing older    I must shuffle on my way!Tho\u2019 there\u2019s not a hearth to greet me    I must reap as I sowed,And the sunset shall meet me    At […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,4],"tags":[43],"class_list":["post-7915","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newspapers","category-omaha-daily-bee","tag-alfred-noyes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7915","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7915"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7915\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7915"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7915"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7915"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}