The swift scouts of dawn ride in,
Their lances flame-tipped.
The waning moon shines whitely,
Like thin drifted snow--
And the cradled winds sleepily rub their eyes.
An impatient horse whinnies--
A dog barks, at nothing.
Trails of smoke rise from the kitchen chimney.
The air is washed clean; it smells sweet
With odors of new-mown hay.
A man steps out briskly
From the imprisoned dark of the barn,
Carrying pails brimful of foaming milk.
A woman waits in the doorway;
She is young and comely.
Mewing kittens are tangled in her skirts;
They smell the warm milk.
A baby cries softly upstairs.
