The Milk-Maid O’ The Farm

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O Poll's the milk-maïd o' the farm!
  An' Poll's so happy out in groun',
  Wi' her white païl below her eärm
  As if she wore a goolden crown.

  An' Poll don't zit up half the night,
  Nor lie vor half the day a-bed;
  An' zoo her eyes be sparklèn bright,
  An' zoo her cheäks be bloomèn red.

  In zummer mornèns, when the lark
  Do rouse the litty lad an' lass
  To work, then she's the vu'st to mark
  Her steps along the dewy grass.

  An' in the evenèn, when the zun
  Do sheen ageän the western brows
  O' hills, where bubblèn brooks do run,
  There she do zing bezide her cows.

  An' ev'ry cow of hers do stand,
  An' never overzet her païl;
  Nor try to kick her nimble hand,
  Nor switch her wi' her heavy taïl.

  Noo leädy, wi' her muff an' vaïl,
  Do walk wi' sich a steätely tread
  As she do, wi' her milkèn païl
  A-balanc'd on her comely head.

  An' she, at mornèn an' at night,
  Do skim the yollow cream, an' mwold
  An' wring her cheeses red an' white,
  An' zee the butter vetch'd an' roll'd.

  An' in the barken or the ground,
  The chaps do always do their best
  To milk the vu'st their own cows round,
  An' then help her to milk the rest.

  Zoo Poll's the milk-maïd o' the farm!
  An' Poll's so happy out in groun',
  Wi' her white païl below her eärm,
  As if she wore a goolden crown.

© William Barnes