Spring: The Milk-Maid o’ the Farm
O Poll’s the milk-maid o’ the farm!
An’ Poll’s so happy out in groun’,
Wi’ her white pail below her eaerm
As if she wore a goolden crown.
An’ Poll don’t zit up half the night,
Nor lie vor half the day a-bed;
An’ zoo her eyes be sparklen bright,
An’ zoo her cheaeks be bloomen red.
In zummer mornens, when the lark
Do rouse the litty lad an’ lass
To work, then she’s the vu’st to mark
Her steps along the dewy grass.
An’ in the evenen, when the zun
Do sheen ageaen the western brows
O’ hills, where bubblen brooks do run,
There she do zing bezide her cows.
An’ ev’ry cow of hers do stand,
An’ never overzet her pail;
Nor try to kick her nimble hand,
Nor switch her wi’ her heavy tail.
Noo leaedy, wi’ her muff an’ vail,
Do walk wi’ sich a steaetely tread
As she do, wi’ her milken pail
A-balanc’d on her comely head.
An’ she, at mornen an’ at night,
Do skim the yollow cream, an’ mwold
An’ wring her cheeses red an’ white,
An’ zee the butter vetch’d an’ roll’d.
An’ in the barken or the ground,
The chaps do always do their best
To milk the vu’st their own cows round,
An’ then help her to milk the rest.
Zoo Poll’s the milk-maid o’ the farm!
An’ Poll’s so happy out in groun’,
Wi’ her white pail below her eaerm,
As if she wore a goolden crown.
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