The Milkman

Early in the morning, when the dawn is on the roofs,
You hear his wheels come rolling, you hear his horse's hoofs;
You hear the bottles clinking, and then he drives away:
You yawn in bed, turn over, and begin another day!

The old-time dairy maids are dear to every poet's heart —
I'd rather be the dairy man and drive a little cart,
And bustle round the village in the early morning blue.
And hang my reins upon a hook, as I've seen Casey do.
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