THE hay-wain turns heavily down the dark lane Where the farm glimmers white through the dense beeches' ending, The dull drowsy jolt of the wheels of the wain Grows less down the dimness our hushed feet are wending: 'Tis late, and for long we have heard the cows low To enter the neat-house, where brown moths are winging, For firm and soft fingers (our fingers) so slow To loose their crushed udders and teats sideways swinging: The hay has delayed us, but soon we shall hear The long spirts of milk on the pail-bottoms drumming, As down through hands hollowed they slip warm and near Until in full pails of frothed milk they are humming. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH FOR A SOLDIER by DAVID IGNATOW INVITATION TO LOVE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY by EDWARD LEAR PSALM 86 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE BAKER'S VAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |