Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508457" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Milking Time</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's a drip of honeysuckle in the deep green lane;<br>There's old Martin jogging homeward on his worn old wain;<br>There are cherry petals falling, and a cuckoo calling, calling,<br>And a score of larks (God bless 'em) . . . but it's all pain, pain.<br>For you see I am not really there at all, not at all;<br>For you see I'm in the trenches where the crump-crumps fall;<br>And the bits o' shells are screaming and it's only blessed dreaming<br>That in fancy I am seeming back in old Saint Pol.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh I've thought of it so often since I've come down here;<br>And I never dreamt that any place could be so dear;<br>The silvered whinstone houses, and the rosy men in blouses,<br>And the kindly, white-capped women with their eyes spring-clear.<br>And mother's sitting knitting where her roses climb,<br>And the angelus is calling with a soft, soft chime,<br>And the sea-wind comes caressing, and the light's a golden blessing,<br>And Yvonne, Yvonne is guessing that it's milking time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh it's Sunday, for she's wearing of her broidered gown;<br>And she draws the pasture pickets and the cows come down;<br>And their feet are powdered yellow, and their voices honey-mellow,<br>And they bring a scent of clover, and their eyes are brown.<br>And Yvonne is dreaming after, but her eyes are blue;<br>And her lips are made for laughter, and her white teeth too;<br>And her mouth is like a cherry, and a dimple mocking merry<br>Is lurking in the very cheek she turns to you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I walk beside her kindly, and she laughs at me;<br>And I heap her arms with lilac from the lilac tree;<br>And a golden light is welling, and a golden peace is dwelling,<br>And a thousand birds are telling how it's good to be.<br>And what are pouting lips for if they can't be kissed?<br>And I've filled her arms with blossom so she can't resist;<br>And the cows are sadly straying, and her mother must be saying<br>That Yvonne is long delaying . . . God! How close that missed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A nice polite reminder that the Boche are nigh;<br>That we're here to fight like devils, and if need-be die;<br>That from kissing pretty wenches to the frantic firing-benches<br>Of the battered, tattered trenches is a far, far cry.<br>Yet still I'm sitting dreaming in the glare and grime;<br>And once again I'm hearing of them church-bells chime;<br>And how I wonder whether in the golden summer weather<br>We will fetch the cows together when it's milking time. . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> (English voice, months later): --</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Ow Bill! A rottin' Frenchy. Whew! 'E ain't 'arf prime.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508457" data-title="Milking Time de Robert William Service" data-description="There's a drip of honeysuckle in the deep green lane;
There's old Martin jogging homeward on his worn old wain;
There are cherry petals falling, and a cuckoo calling, calling,
And a score of larks (God bless 'em) . . . but it's all pain, pain.
For..."></div>
</div>
</div>