THE MILKMAN

Early in the morning, when the dawn is on the roofs,

You hear his wheels come rolling, you hear his horse's hoofs;

You hear the bottles clinking, and then he drives away:

You yawn in bed, turn over, and begin another day!

The old-time dairy maids are dear to every poet's heart —

I'd rather be the dairy man and drive a little cart,

And bustle round the village in the early morning blue,

And hang my reins upon a hook, as I've seen Casey do.