When The Cows Come Home

When the sunset paints her ruddy glow

Across the Western sky,

When from the marshlands just below

Comes forth the tree toads’ cry;

And fireflies dance o’er field and plain

And break the sinking gloam,

I love to linger in the lane

     And watch the cows come home.

The mellow tinkle of the bell

     Falls sweetly on my ear;

The plaintive “loo” of Bess and Nell

     And Kate I love to hear.

It brings to me a soothing calm

     To stand ‘neath twilight’s dome,

Upon my dear old boyhood’s farm

     And watch the cows come home.

Each crowds into her narrow stall

     With widely switching tail,

And soon rich streams of whiteness falls

     Into the milking pail.

The day is done, and evening creeps

     Upon the fading gloam,

And forest, field and farmyard sleeps

     After the cows come home.

April 7, 1901

gloam – The time of day immediately following sunset