Classic Poem

Lady Meadow,
Coquetting there with noon,
You balance and sway your rustling trees
Like crisp brocade hoop-skirts.

Over your curling gold of buttercups
You powder thick the daisy-petals,
And near the pond,
Iris-lashed, heaven-reflected—
Yet not too near—
You flaunt serenely,
One black cow,
Reclining;
Much as a Royal favorite wears
Her patch,
Beneath the smiling blue of her arch eye.