Milkmaid Liza


Liza sits upon the milking stool,

Her bent head pressed against the cow;

Between her fingers, deft and cool,

The milk squirts till the pail is full;

An easy job if one knows how.


I’ve tried, but it won’t come;

And Liza only stands and jeers.

“Oh, use your fingers and your thumb !”

I feel like running way back home

To hide my burning face and tears.


The cow is restless, lifts her feet;

Kicks pail and almost spills the lot.

So Liza takes again her seat

And strokes the milk from swollen teat

While I look on, my shame forgot.


And as I’m sitting in a dream

Upon a heap of straw and chaff,

She twists her hand and sends a stream

Into my eyes: I taste the cream

And Liza has a hearty laugh.


Mona’s Herald     9.7.63