I drive my cows to Corby; On sweet spring-grass they're fed; But it's Madge who nestles wantonly In William Corby's bed. I drive my sheep to Corby, And the gold-dust's on the willow; But it's Nellie's winsome curls that lie On William Corby's pillow. I drive my geese to Corby When the bind-weed's in the wheat; But it's Bess who cuddles warm and sly 'Neath William Corby's sheet. I drive my pigs to Corby; And the hips and haws are red; But none but me will mind o' he When William Corby's dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PSALM 121 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A LITTLE CHRISTMAS BASKET by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WHICH WAS MOST TRULY DEAD? by CHARLES AUGUSTIN SAINTE-BEUVE THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD by CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: A NIGHT IN THE FISHERMAN'S HUT by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON A SONG OF SYRINX by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS THE ARMY OF ISRAEL AT THE FOOT OF MOUNT SINAI by LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON |