The Milking Hour

He saw me to the town, and then
He sighed, but kissed me not,
And whispered "we shall meet again,"
But didn't say for what.
Yet on my breast his cheek had lain,
And though it gently prest,
It bruised my heart, and left a pain
That robs it of its rest.

THE sun had grown on lessening day
A table, large and round,
And in the distant vapours grey
Seemed leaning on the ground;
When Mary, like a lingering flower,
Did tenderly agree
To stay beyond her milking hour,
And talk awhile with me.

We wandered, till the distant town
Was silenced nearly dumb.
And lessened on the quiet ear,
Small as a beetle's hum.
She turned her milkpails upside down,
And made us each a seat,
And there we talked the evening brown,
Beneath the rustling wheat.