Cows

    There was an old man who said, "How
    Shall I flee from this horrible cow?
    I will sit on this stile
    And continue to smile,
    Which may soften the heart of that cow."

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

You

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXVII. Jingles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DCLVII. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCLXXVII. Paradoxes.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Book Of Nonsense Limerick 72.

There was an Old Man who said, "How, -
Shall I flee from this horrible Cow?
I will sit on this stile,
And continue to smile,
Which may soften the heart of that Cow."

Edward Lear

The Cow.

("Devant la blanche ferme.")

[XV., May, 1837.]


Before the farm where, o'er the porch, festoon
Wild creepers red, and gaffer sits at noon,
Whilst strutting fowl display their varied crests,
And the old watchdog slumberously rests,
They half-attentive to the clarion of their king,
Resplendent in the sunshine op'ning wing -
There stood a cow, with neck-bell jingling light,
Superb, enormous, dappled red and white -
Soft, gentle, patient as a hind unto its young,
Letting the children swarm until they hung
Around her, under - rustics with their teeth
Whiter than marble their ripe lips beneath,
And bushy hair fresh and more brown
Than mossy walls at old gates of a town,
Calling to one another with loud cries
For younger imps to be in at ...

Victor-Marie Hugo

Windmills And Stone Stables.

        Cows suffered in the days of old
        For want of water and from cold,
        Now of good water they have fill
        For it is pumped by the windmill.

        No matter how well cows were fed
        They suffered cold in their board shed,
        But good stone walls now them enfold,
        And they are warm and safe from cold.

        Now they do enjoy their fodder,
        And repay with their full udder,
        If bran slops you on cow bestow
        Of milk it will increase the flow.

        And in your efforts do not halt
        But let them daily lick the salt,
        And never let the dogs them chase,
        But let them walk at their quiet pace.

James McIntyre

Quest Of The Purple Cow, The

He girded on his shining sword,
    He clad him in his suit of mail,
He gave his friends the parting word,
    With high resolve his face was pale.
They said, "You've kissed the Papal Toe,
    To great Moguls you've made your bow,
Why will you thus world-wandering go?"
    "I never saw a purple cow!"

"I never saw a purple cow!
    Oh, hinder not my wild emprise,
Let me depart! For even now
    Perhaps, before some yokel's eyes
The purpling creature dashes by,
    Bending its noble, horned brow.
They see its glowing charms, but I,
    I never saw a purple cow!"

"But other cows there be," they said,
    "Both cows of high and low degree,
Suffolk and Devon, brown, black, red,
    The Ayrshire and the Alderney.
Content yourself with...

Hilda Johnson

The Cow In Apple-Time

Something inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit,
She scorns a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten.
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.

Robert Lee Frost

The Cow (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

                Cow, Cow!
                I and thou
    Are looking at each other's eyes
    You are lying on the grass
    Eating every time I pass,
    And you do not seem to be
    Ever in perplexity:
    You are good I'm sure, and not
    Fit for nothing but the pot:
    For your bearing is so kind,
    And your quietness so wise:
                Cow, Cow!
                I and thou
    Are looking at each other's eyes.

James Stephens