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

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

The Joys Of Prairie Farmers 1884.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Danger Of Fire Arms.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Canada's Future.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Her Lover's Step.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Vale Of Thames.

        In vale of Thames oft' times are seen
        The cattle graze 'mong sweetest green,
        Or there contented with their fate
        The gentle cows do ruminate.

        And enjoy a double pleasure
        In re-chewing hidden treasure,
        The cow is a kindly creature,
        Kind and pleasant in each feature.

        About her is a homely charm,
        And her the dog should not alarm,
        But let all safe guard her from harm,
        The gentlest creature on the farm.

James McIntyre

Four Acre Farm.

        This is a tale, but it is truth,
        Of maiden lady named Ruth,
        She owned a small four acre farm,
        Which possessed some rural charm.

        This maiden she was past her youth,
        But none e're fell in love with Ruth,
        Though you must not infer from thence
        That she possessed not grace nor sense.

        She was handsome in her day,
        But beauty quickly fades away,
        Good vegetables and fine roots
        She growed and choicest kind of fruits.

        And a first-class good milch cow
        She kept, and a fine breeding sow,
        Her butter high price did command,
        Cow fed on best of pasture land.

        On it was pond where swam her geese,
        From small fl...

James McIntyre

Rural Morning

Soon as the twilight through the distant mist
In silver hemmings skirts the purple east,
Ere yet the sun unveils his smiles to view
And dries the morning's chilly robes of dew,
Young Hodge the horse-boy, with a soodly gait,
Slow climbs the stile, or opes the creaky gate,
With willow switch and halter by his side
Prepared for Dobbin, whom he means to ride;
The only tune he knows still whistling oer,
And humming scraps his father sung before,
As "Wantley Dragon," and the "Magic Rose,"
The whole of music that his village knows,
Which wild remembrance, in each little town,
From mouth to mouth through ages handles down.
Onward he jolls, nor can the minstrel-throngs
Entice him once to listen to their songs;
Nor marks he once a blossom on his way;
A senseless lu...

John Clare

Rural Morning.

Soon as the twilight through the distant mist
In silver hemmings skirts the purple east,
Ere yet the sun unveils his smiles to view
And dries the morning's chilly robes of dew,
Young Hodge the horse-boy, with a soodly gait,
Slow climbs the stile, or opes the creaky gate,
With willow switch and halter by his side
Prepar'd for Dobbin, whom he means to ride;
The only tune he knows still whistling o'er,
And humming scraps his father sung before,
As "Wantley Dragon," and the "Magic Rose,"
The whole of music that his village knows,
Which wild remembrance, in each little town,
From mouth to mouth through ages handles down.
Onward he jolls, nor can the minstrel-throngs
Entice him once to listen to their songs;
Nor marks he once a blossom on his way;
A senseless l...

John Clare

Dairy Odes.

        The sweet milkmaid of early days
        Her own household she ably sways,
        And her daughters now milk the cows,
        And her sons they now guide the plows.

        These pleasing changes on a farm
        Doth give to rural life a charm,
        Let occupation none upbraid,
        But honor plowman and milkmaid.

        For Burns with glory did endow
        And wove a garland round the plow,
        The source from which all wealth doth spring
        And happiness to all doth bring.

        Our muse it doth refuse to sing
        Of cheese made early in the spring,
        When cows give milk from spring fodder
        You cannot make a good cheddar.

        The quality is often vile
        Of cheese that is ...

James McIntyre

Alnaschar And The Oxen

There's a pasture in a valley where the hanging woods divide,
And a Herd lies down and ruminates in peace;
Where the pheasant rules the nooning, and the owl the twilight tide,
And the war-cries of our world die out and cease.
Here I cast aside the burden that each weary week-day brings
And, delivered from the shadows I pursue,
On peaceful, postless, Sabbaths I consider Weighty Things
Such as Sussex Cattle feeding in the dew!
At the gate beside the river where the trouty shallows brawl,
I know the pride that Lobengula felt,
When he bade the bars be lowered of the Royal Cattle Kraal,
And fifteen miles of oxen took the veldt.
From the walls of Bulawayo in unbroken file they came
To where the Mount of Council cuts the blue . . .
I have only six and twenty, but the principle...

Rudyard