Classic Poem

My Fate's wicked dairy-man
Who sells me skim and charges cream,
Puts “Human-kindness” on his can,
And cold pump-water on my dream.

With deprecatory pretence
He begs his dues like other prigs—
My time, my labour, and my pence,
And steals my tit-bits for his pigs.

I asked him why the milk I buy
Is worse than theirs who dress in silk,
But craftily he made reply—
“I furnish them with asses' milk!”

I'd gladly change, but where I dwell
He quite controls his branch of trade;
He is an anchorite as well
And does not keep a dairy-maid.

O Milkman Fate! these many years
Your human-kindness mocks my thirst;
Your sweetest milk is salt with tears
And on such food my hopes are nursed.