When the frost is white on the fodder-stack, The haws in the thorn-bush withered and black, When the near fields flash in a diamond mail And the far hills glimmer opaline pale, Oh, merrily shines the morning sun In the barn-yard's southerly corner. When the ruts in the cart-road ring like steel And the birds to the kitchen door come for their meal, And the snow at the gate is lightly drifted And over the wood-pile thinly sifted, Oh, merrily shines the morning sun In the barn-yard's southerly corner. When the brimming bucket steams at the well, And the axe on the beech-knot sings like a bell, When the pond is loud with the skaters' calls, And the horses stamp in the littered stalls, Oh, merrily shines the morning sun In the barn-yard's southerly corner. When the hay lies loose on the wide barn-floor, And a sharp smell puffs from the stable door, When the pitchfork handle stings in the hand And the stanchioned cows for the milking stand, Oh, merrily shines the morning sun In the barn-yard's southerly corner. And the steers, let out for a drink and a run Seek the warm corner one by one, And the huddling sheep, in their dusty white, Nose at the straw in the pleasant light, When merrily shines the morning sun In the barn-yard's southerly corner. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON STREET LANTERNS by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE TESTAMENT OF CRESSEID by ROBERT HENRYSON A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 32 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE NIGHT [NICHT] IS NEAR [NIGH] GONE by ALEXANDER MONTGOMERIE |