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Best Famous Milked Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Milked poems. This is a select list of the best famous Milked poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Milked poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of milked poems.

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Written by Sylvia Plath | Create an image from this poem

Goatsucker

 Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear
The warning whirr and burring of the bird
Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard
Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder.
Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer
Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered
By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird,
Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire.

So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight
In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth,
Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night,
Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death
And shadows only--cave-mouth bristle beset--
Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.


Written by Mother Goose | Create an image from this poem

The House That Jack Built

This is the house that Jack built.This is the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the dog,That worried the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog,That worried the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the maiden all forlorn,That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog,That worried the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack builtThis is the man all tattered and torn,That kissed the maiden all forlorn,That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog,That worried the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the priest all shaven and shorn,That married the man all tattered and torn,That kissed the maiden all forlorn,That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog,That worried the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the cock that crowed in the morn,That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,That married the man all tattered and torn,That kissed the maiden all forlorn,That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog,That worried the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.This is the farmer sowing the corn,That kept the cock that crowed in the morn,That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,That married the man all tattered and torn,That kissed the maiden all forlorn,That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,That tossed the dog,That worried the cat,That killed the rat,That ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.
Written by William Blake | Create an image from this poem

The Book of Thel

 THEL'S MOTTO 

1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit? 
2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
3 Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
4 Or Love in a golden bowl? 

I 

1.1 The daughters of the Seraphim led round their sunny flocks, 
1.2 All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
1.3 To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
1.4 Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
1.5 And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew: 

1.6 "O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water,
1.7 Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall?
1.8 Ah! Thel is like a wat'ry bow, and like a parting cloud;
1.9 Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water;
1.10 Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face;
1.11 Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air.
1.12 Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head,
1.13 And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice
1.14 Of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time."
1.15 The Lily of the valley, breathing in the humble grass,
1.16 Answer'd the lovely maid and said: "I am a wat'ry weed,
1.17 And I am very small and love to dwell in lowly vales;
1.18 So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head.
1.19 Yet I am visited from heaven, and he that smiles on all
1.20 Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his hand,
1.21 Saying, 'Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily-flower,
1.22 Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks;
1.23 For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna,
1.24 Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs
1.25 To flourish in eternal vales.' Then why should Thel complain?
1.26 Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?" 

1.27 She ceas'd and smil'd in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine. 

1.28 Thel answer'd: "O thou little virgin of the peaceful valley,
1.29 Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'ertired;
1.30 Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments,
1.31 He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face,
1.32 Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints.
1.33 Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume,
1.34 Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs,
1.35 Revives the milked cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed.
1.36 But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
1.37 I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?" 

1.38 "Queen of the vales," the Lily answer'd, "ask the tender cloud,
1.39 And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky,
1.40 And why it scatters its bright beauty thro' the humid air.
1.41 Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel." 

1.42 The Cloud descended, and the Lily bow'd her modest head
1.43 And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass.

II 

2.1 "O little Cloud," the virgin said, "I charge thee tell to me 
2.2 Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away:
2.3 Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to thee:
2.4 I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my voice." 

2.5 The Cloud then shew'd his golden head and his bright form emerg'd,
2.6 Hovering and glittering on the air before the face of Thel. 

2.7 "O virgin, know'st thou not our steeds drink of the golden springs
2.8 Where Luvah doth renew his horses? Look'st thou on my youth,
2.9 And fearest thou, because I vanish and am seen no more,
2.10 Nothing remains? O maid, I tell thee, when I pass away
2.11 It is to tenfold life, to love, to peace and raptures holy:
2.12 Unseen descending, weigh my light wings upon balmy flowers,
2.13 And court the fair-eyed dew to take me to her shining tent:
2.14 The weeping virgin trembling kneels before the risen sun,
2.15 Till we arise link'd in a golden band and never part,
2.16 But walk united, bearing food to all our tender flowers." 

2.17 "Dost thou, O little Cloud? I fear that I am not like thee,
2.18 For I walk thro' the vales of Har, and smell the sweetest flowers,
2.19 But I feed not the little flowers; I hear the warbling birds,
2.20 But I feed not the warbling birds; they fly and seek their food:
2.21 But Thel delights in these no more, because I fade away;
2.22 And all shall say, 'Without a use this shining woman liv'd,
2.23 Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms?' " 

2.24 The Cloud reclin'd upon his airy throne and answer'd thus: 

2.25 "Then if thou art the food of worms, O virgin of the skies,
2.26 How great thy use, how great thy blessing! Every thing that lives
2.27 Lives not alone nor for itself. Fear not, and I will call
2.28 The weak worm from its lowly bed, and thou shalt hear its voice,
2.29 Come forth, worm of the silent valley, to thy pensive queen." 

2.30 The helpless worm arose, and sat upon the Lily's leaf,
2.31 And the bright Cloud sail'd on, to find his partner in the vale. 

III 

3.1 Then Thel astonish'd view'd the Worm upon its dewy bed. 

3.2 "Art thou a Worm? Image of weakness, art thou but a Worm?
3.3 I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily's leaf
3.4 Ah! weep not, little voice, thou canst not speak, but thou canst weep.
3.5 Is this a Worm? I see thee lay helpless and naked, weeping,
3.6 And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mother's smiles."
3.7 The Clod of Clay heard the Worm's voice and rais'd her pitying head:
3.8 She bow'd over the weeping infant, and her life exhal'd
3.9 In milky fondness: then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes. 

3.10 "O beauty of the vales of Har! we live not for ourselves.
3.11 Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed.
3.12 My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark;
3.13 But he, that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head,
3.14 And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast,
3.15 And says: 'Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
3.16 And I have given thee a crown that none can take away.'
3.17 But how this is, sweet maid, I know not, and I cannot know;
3.18 I ponder, and I cannot ponder; yet I live and love." 

3.19 The daughter of beauty wip'd her pitying tears with her white veil,
3.20 And said: "Alas! I knew not this, and therefore did I weep.
3.21 That God would love a Worm I knew, and punish the evil foot
3.22 That wilful bruis'd its helpless form; but that he cherish'd it
3.23 With milk and oil I never knew, and therefore did I weep;
3.24 And I complain'd in the mild air, because I fade away,
3.25 And lay me down in thy cold bed, and leave my shining lot." 

3.26 "Queen of the vales," the matron Clay answer'd, "I heard thy sighs,
3.27 And all thy moans flew o'er my roof, but I have call'd them down.
3.28 Wilt thou, O Queen, enter my house? 'Tis given thee to enter
3.29 And to return: fear nothing, enter with thy virgin feet." 

IV 

4.1 The eternal gates' terrific porter lifted the northern bar: 
4.2 Thel enter'd in and saw the secrets of the land unknown.
4.3 She saw the couches of the dead, and where the fibrous roots
4.4 Of every heart on earth infixes deep its restless twists:
4.5 A land of sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen. 

4.6 She wander'd in the land of clouds thro' valleys dark, list'ning
4.7 Dolours and lamentations; waiting oft beside a dewy grave
4.8 She stood in silence, list'ning to the voices of the ground,
4.9 Till to her own grave plot she came, and there she sat down,
4.10 And heard this voice of sorrow breathed from the hollow pit. 

4.11 "Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
4.12 Or the glist'ning Eye to the poison of a smile?
4.13 Why are Eyelids stor'd with arrows ready drawn,
4.14 Where a thousand fighting men in ambush lie?
4.15 Or an Eye of gifts and graces show'ring fruits and coined gold?
4.16 Why a Tongue impress'd with honey from every wind?
4.17 Why an Ear, a whirlpool fierce to draw creations in?
4.18 Why a Nostril wide inhaling terror, trembling, and affright?
4.19 Why a tender curb upon the youthful burning boy?
4.20 Why a little curtain of flesh on the bed of our desire?" 

4.21 The Virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek
4.22 Fled back unhinder'd till she came into the vales of Har.
Written by Anne Sexton | Create an image from this poem

The Author Of The Jesus Papers Speaks

 In my dream
I milked a cow,
the terrible udder
like a great rubber lily
sweated in my fingers
and as I yanked,
waiting for the moon juice,
waiting for the white mother,
blood spurted from it
and covered me with shame.
Then God spoke to me and said:
People say only good things about Christmas.
If they want to say something bad,
they whisper.
So I went to the well and drew a baby
out of the hollow water.
Then God spoke to me and said:
Here. Take this gingerbread lady
and put her in your oven.
When the cow gives blood
and the Christ is born
we must all eat sacrifices.
We must all eat beautiful women.
Written by Carl Sandburg | Create an image from this poem

Flanders

 FLANDERS, the name of a place, a country of people,
Spells itself with letters, is written in books.

“Where is Flanders?” was asked one time,
Flanders known only to those who lived there
And milked cows and made cheese and spoke the home language.

“Where is Flanders?” was asked.
And the slang adepts shot the reply: Search me.

A few thousand people milking cows, raising radishes,
On a land of salt grass and dunes, sand-swept with a sea-breath on it:
This was Flanders, the unknown, the quiet,
The place where cows hunted lush cuds of green on lowlands,
And the raw-boned plowmen took horses with long shanks
Out in the dawn to the sea-breath.

Flanders sat slow-spoken amid slow-swung windmills,
Slow-circling windmill arms turning north or west,
Turning to talk to the swaggering winds, the childish winds,
So Flanders sat with the heart of a kitchen girl
Washing wooden bowls in the winter sun by a window.


Written by Henry Lawson | Create an image from this poem

The Drovers Sweetheart

 An hour before the sun goes down 
Behind the ragged boughs, 
I go across the little run 
And bring the dusty cows; 
And once I used to sit and rest 
Beneath the fading dome, 
For there was one that I loved best 
Who'd bring the cattle home. 

Our yard is fixed with double bails, 
Round one the grass is green, 
The bush is growing through the rails, 
The spike is rusted in; 
And 'twas from there his freckled face 
Would turn and smile at me -- 
He'd milk a dozen in the race 
While I was milking three. 

I milk eleven cows myself 
Where once I milked but four; 
I set the dishes on the shelf 
And close the dairy door; 
And when the glaring sunlight fails 
And the fire shines through the cracks, 
I climb the broken stockyard rails 
And watch the bridle-tracks. 

He kissed me twice and once again 
And rode across the hill, 
The pint-pots and the hobble-chain 
I hear them jingling still; 
He'll come at night or not at all -- 
He left in dust and heat, 
And when the soft, cool shadows fall 
Is the best time to meet. 

And he is coming back again, 
He wrote to let me know, 
The floods were in the Darling then -- 
It seems so long ago; 
He'd come through miles of slush and mud, 
And it was weary work, 
The creeks were bankers, and the flood 
Was forty miles round Bourke. 

He said the floods had formed a block, 
The plains could not be crossed, 
And there was foot-rot in the flock 
And hundreds had been lost; 
The sheep were falling thick and fast 
A hundred miles from town, 
And when he reached the line at last 
He trucked the remnant down. 

And so he'll have to stand the cost; 
His luck was always bad, 
Instead of making more, he lost 
The money that he had; 
And how he'll manage, heaven knows 
(My eyes are getting dim), 
He says -- he says -- he don't -- suppose 
I'll want -- to -- marry -- him. 

As if I wouldn't take his hand 
Without a golden glove -- 
Oh! Jack, you men won't understand 
How much a girl can love. 
I long to see his face once more -- 
Jack's dog! thank God, it's Jack! -- 
(I never thought I'd faint before) 
He's coming -- up -- the track.
Written by Henry Lawson | Create an image from this poem

The Free-Selectors Daughter

 I met her on the Lachlan Side -- 
A darling girl I thought her, 
And ere I left I swore I'd win 
The free-selector's daughter. 

I milked her father's cows a month, 
I brought the wood and water, 
I mended all the broken fence, 
Before I won the daughter. 

I listened to her father's yarns, 
I did just what I `oughter', 
And what you'll have to do to win 
A free-selector's daughter. 

I broke my pipe and burnt my twist, 
And washed my mouth with water; 
I had a shave before I kissed 
The free-selector's daughter. 

Then, rising in the frosty morn, 
I brought the cows for Mary, 
And when I'd milked a bucketful 
I took it to the dairy. 

I poured the milk into the dish 
While Mary held the strainer, 
I summoned heart to speak my wish, 
And, oh! her blush grew plainer. 

I told her I must leave the place, 
I said that I would miss her; 
At first she turned away her face, 
And then she let me kiss her. 

I put the bucket on the ground, 
And in my arms I caught her: 
I'd give the world to hold again 
That free-selector's daughter!

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry