Classic Poem

1

The months have nearly traveled round
And wound the bottom of the year
All splashy is the greensward ground
Half full the waggon ruts appear
The maple green to pale gold turns
The hazel leaves blood red
The ring-dove on the odd oak mourns
As if his mate where dead

2

The pretty milkmaid picks her way
O'er fields and closes many a one
Sweet as the hedge rose on the spray
Where all the rest are shook and gone
By the round stack she milks her cows
Beside the broad ash pollard tree
Leaves drop off yellow i' the sloughs
And weary drones the last odd bee

3

Sweet smells the fallen leaves and grass
The fairy rings o' darker hue
Sweet is the song of milking lass
In field and close she wanders through
The green woodpecker swoops and squeaks
From one small hole in the ash tree
Red is the ploughboys chubby cheeks
— Wet stubbles rustle sweet to me

4

Red is the milkmaids elbows now
And beautifully turned her arm
Green o'er her head the oak tree bough
Hums the wild winds music charm
The milkmaid is a lovely thing
Close to her bonnet swoop the crows
She loves to see their sooty wing
Their fanning wings at days bright close

5

The magpie broods have saucy tongues
They rag her the two closes through
The blackbird gives her sweeter songs
Hedge sparrows they will charm her too —
With sudden starts along the hedge
Her shoes are sullied o'er with dew
She walks beside the dykes o' sedge
The sweetest rose that ever grew