IN London, thirty years ago, When pretty milkmaids went about, It was a goodly sight to see Their May-Day Pageant all drawn out. Themselves in comely colours drest, Their shining garland in the middle, A pipe and tabor on before, Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle. They stopt at houses, where it was Their custom to cry "Milk below!" And while the music play'd, with smiles Join'd hands, and pointed toe to toe. Thus they tripp'd on, till—from the door The hop'd-for annual present sent— A signal came, to curtsey low, And at that door cease merriment. Such scenes and sounds once blest my eyes, And charm'd my ears—but all have vanish'd! On May Day, now, no garlands go, For milkmaids, and their dance, are banish'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HERETIC: 2. IRONY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER FOR ONCE, THEN, SOMETHING by ROBERT FROST THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL by WILLIAM BLAKE ON FIRST ENTERING WESTMINSTER ABBEY by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK OUR LEFT' by FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR |