Classic Poem

On winter nights shepherd and I
Down to the lambing-shed would go;
Rain round our swinging lamp did fly
Like shining flakes of snow.

There on a nail our lamp we hung,
And O it was beyond belief
To see those ewes lick with hot tongue
The limp wet lambs to life.

A week gone and sun shining warm
It was as good as gold to hear
Those new-born voices round the farm
Cry shivering and clear.

Where was a prouder man than I
Who knew the night those lambs were born,
Watching them leap two feet on high
And stamp the ground in scorn?

Gone sheep and shed and lighted rain
And blue March morning; yet today
A small voice crying brings again
Those lambs leaping at play.