Little dun cow to the apple tree tied, Chewing the cud of reflection, I that am milking you, sit by your side, Lost in a sad retrospection.
Far o'er the field the tall daisies blush warm, For rosy the sunset is dying; Across the still valley, o'er meadow and farm, The flush of its beauty is lying.
White foams the milk in the pail at my feet, Clearly the robins are calling;. Soft blows the evening wind after the heat, Cool the long shadows are falling.
Little dun cow, 'tis so tranquil and sweet! Are you light-hearted, I wonder? What do you think about,—something to eat? On clover and grass do you ponder?
I am remembering days that are dead, And a brown little maid in the gloaming, Milking her cow, with the west burning red Over waves that about her were foaming.
Up from the sad east the deep shadows gloomed Out of the distance and found her; Lightly she sang while the solemn sea boomed Like a great organ around her.
Under the light-house no sweet-brier grew, Dry was the grass, and no daisies Waved in the wind, and the flowers were few That lifted their delicate faces.
But O, she was happy, and careless, and blest, Full of the song-sparrow's spirit; Grateful for life, for the least and the best Of the blessings that mortals inherit.
Fairer than gardens of Paradise seemed The desolate spaces of water; Nature was hers,—clouds that frowned—stars that gleamed,— What beautiful lessons they taught her!
Would I could find you again, little maid, Striving with utmost endeavor,— Could find in my breast that light heart, unafraid, That has vanished for ever and ever!
