When the Cows Come Home

With klingle, klangle, klingle,

Way down the dusty dingle

The cows are coming home;

How sweet and clear, and faint and low,

The airy tinklings come and go,

Like chimings from some far-off tower,

Or patterings of an April shower

That makes the daisies grow—

Ko-kling ko-klang, koklingle lingle,

Way down the darkening dingle

The cows come slowly home.

With a klingle, klangle, klingle,

With a loo-oo and moo-oo and jingle

The cows are coming home:

And over there on Merlin's hill

Hear the plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will,

The dewdrops lie on the tangled vines,

And over the poplar Venus shines

And over the silent mill.

Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolingle lingle

With a ting-a-ling and jingle

The cows come slowly home.

Let down the bars, let in the strain

Of long-gone songs, and flowers and rain;

For dear old times come back again

When the cows come home.

—Agnes Mitchell.