The Milkmaid’s Song

A milkmaid, on a Summer’s day,

Was singing, as she milked away.

The heavy, sullen cows had come

Racing when her voice called them home.

A three-legged stool, a pail that glows,

To sit and sing, and milk her cows.

Her cheeks were red, her eyes were bright,

And, like that milk, her neck was white.

The birds around her tuned their troats-

In vain- to take her perfect notes.

The cow gave up the last milk-drop,

And tarried till her song should stop.

“Wilt marry me, sweet Maid?” I said.

She laughed in scorn, and tossed her head.

And she had milked the crimson flood

E’en to my heart’s last drop of blood.