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C J Dennis - The Martyr of Bovinia
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She milked the cow; and all the morn was hushed -
   (It was a beast that never kicked or rushed)
The startled dicky-birds of early Spring
   Sat up amazed to mark this splendid thing,
Nigh fainting with delight upon the bough . . . .
          She milked the cow.

She milked the cow; nor all the glory rare
  Of that October morning could compare
With that sweet sylvan scene; the grace, the charm
   The rhythmic movement of her dimpled arm,
Would make a poor bloke feel just anyhow . . . . 
            She milked the cow.

She milked the cow.  `Twas at South Sassafras -
  (Which is a cruel word to rhyme,alas)
And all who gazed thereon decalred, with force,
   It was sublime - except the cow, of course
Who wore a patient frown upn her brow . . . .
            She milked the cow.

She milked the cow - at least, she said she did.
   There was the milk in proof; and God forbid
That I should doubt the statement in the least,
   (I sympathised in private with the beast
Who said - but still, what does it matter now?)
            She milked the cow.
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