Classic Poem

Come, tender Age, contain my blood,
And tame it to thy gentler moods,
From fields where once it ran in flood,
Down into woodland solitudes.
There, where the boughs
Soft music make,
I hear the wood-dove's voice awake:
" Take two cows, Taffy! Taffy, take
Two cows! "

I am not he who comes for cows;
I seek no herd or grazing-plot:
Here, under roof of rustling boughs,
O tempting voice, you tempt me not!
But oh, the meek,
The pleading tone,
With which she makes the theft her own! —
" Take two cows, Taffy! Taffy, take
Two cows! "

No Welshman I: but if I were,
That word should stand for wisdom now;
And blither than the wind I'd fare,
For change of heart and change of air,
Back to my native wilds, and there
Get me three acres and a cow;
And gambling on that smaller stake
A cleaner reputation make,
In honest minds, than he does now! —
And hear among the waving boughs
That voice, which so much grace allows:
" Take two cows, Taffy! Taffy, take
Two cows! "