Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
I. AdmirationThe Milking-Maid
Christina Georgina Rossetti (18301894)T
And bluff the North was blowing,
A bleat of lambs came from the flocks,
Green hardy things were growing;
I met a maid with shining locks
Where milky kine were lowing.
Her bare arm showed its dimple,
Her apron spread without a speck,
Her air was frank and simple.
And sang a country ditty,—
An innocent fond lovers’ tale,
That was not wise or witty,
Pathetically rustical,
Too pointless for the city.
As true as church-bell ringers,
Unless she tapped time with her feet,
Or squeezed it with her fingers;
Her clear, unstudied notes were sweet
As many a practised singer’s.
Stood silent for a minute,
To eye the pail and creamy white
The frothing milk within it,—
Herself so fresh and creamy.
“Good day to you!” at last I said;
She turned her head to see me.
“Good day!” she said, with lifted head;
Her eyes looked soft and dreamy.
The grave cow heavy-laden:
I ’ve seen grand ladies, plumed and silked,
But not a sweeter maiden;
Than this in homely cotton,
Whose pleasant face and silky braid
I have not yet forgotten.
Count with a sober sorrow;
Seven springs have come and passed me by,
And spring sets in to-morrow.
Free, just for once, from London,
To set my work upon the shelf,
And leave it done or undone;
Whirl down with shriek and whistle,
And feel the bluff north glow again,
And mark the sprouting thistle
Set up on waste patch of the lane
Its green and tender bristle;
Crisp primrose-leaves and others,
And watch the lambs leap at their pranks,
And butt their patient mothers.
My serious thoughts demur to:
Seven years have passed for maid and man,
Seven years have passed for her too.
Not rosy, or too rosy;
Perhaps in farm-house of her own
Some husband keeps her cosy,
Where I should show a face unknown,—
Good-bye, my wayside posy!