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MerriMilkMaidShow poetry

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The Milk Maid
~Thomas Hardy

Under a daisied bank
There stands a rich red ruminating cow,
And hard against her flank
A cotton-hooded milkmaid bends her brow.

The flowery river-ooze
Upheaves and falls; the milk purrs in the pail;
Few pilgrims but would choose
The peace of such a life in such a vale.

The maid breathes words--to vent,
It seems, her sense of Nature's scenery,
Of whose life, sentiment,
And essence, very part itself is she.

She bends a glance of pain,
And, at a moment, lets escape a tear;
Is it that passing train,
Whose alien whirr offends her country ear? -

Nay! Phyllis does not dwell
On visual and familiar things like these;
What moves her is the spell
Of inner themes and inner poetries:

Could but by Sunday morn
Her gay new gown come, meads might dry to dun,
Trains shriek till ears were torn,
If Fred would not prefer that Other One.


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My Poetry

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Guest Book

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  • Yemassee on May 3
    "Mooo"

    Sorry I just tricked you. There are no more cows to milk today.
  • PyroMom : For Bertha On Valentine's Day on February 12

    Oh Bertha you bake some awesome pies
    like Apple, Cherry and pumpkin too,
    and one you just call, "Shoo Shoo Fly"
    and glance at me with a wink of the eye.

    and just when I think your heart is won
    and we shall live 'til cows come home
    you bake a pie for that son-of-a gun
    who adores your cows...where'er they roam.
  • Sir Ima Cucumber : For Joe on February 5
    Ode to a cow

    Down in the valley
    with dead sheep and dead sows
    the wolf is now gnawing
    on moo moo cows.


  • Yemassee on January 29
    I think Joe adores the milkmaid more than the cows!

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