Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HAYMAKERS' SONG, FR. KING RENE'S HONEYMOON, by GORDON BOTTOMLEY



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HAYMAKERS' SONG, FR. KING RENE'S HONEYMOON, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: The hay-wain turns heavily down the dark lane
Last Line: Until in full pails of frothed milk they are humming.
Subject(s): Hay & Haymaking


THE hay-wain turns heavily down the dark lane
Where the farm glimmers white through the dense beeches' ending,
The dull drowsy jolt of the wheels of the wain
Grows less down the dimness our hushed feet are wending:
'Tis late, and for long we have heard the cows low
To enter the neat-house, where brown moths are winging,
For firm and soft fingers (our fingers) so slow
To loose their crushed udders and teats sideways swinging:
The hay has delayed us, but soon we shall hear
The long spirts of milk on the pail-bottoms drumming,
As down through hands hollowed they slip warm and near
Until in full pails of frothed milk they are humming.





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