The cow low'd sadly o'er the distant gate, In the mid field, and round our garden rail: But nought her restless sorrow could abate, Nor patting hands, nor clink of milking-pail; For she had lost the love she least could spare. Her little suckling calf, her life of life, In some far shambles waited for the knife, And spent his sweet breath on the murderous air. One single yearning sound, repeated still, Moan'd from the croft, and wander'd round the hill: The heedless train ran brawling down the line; On went the horseman, and the market cart: But little Rose, who loved the sheep and kine, Ran home to tell of Cushie's broken heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NON SUM QUALIS ERAM BONAE SUB REGNO CYNARAE by ERNEST CHRISTOPHER DOWSON SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 97 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE BOTTOM DRAWER by MARY A. BARR THE IDLE SINGER: REACTION by QUINTIN BONE THE EMBROIDERESS AT MIDNIGHT by MARY ANN BROWNE |