Oh, I would live in a dairy, <br />And its Colin I would be, <br />And many a rustic fairy <br />Should churn the milk with me. <br /> <br />Or the fields should be my pleasure, <br />And my flocks should follow me, <br />Piping a frolic measure <br />For Joan or Marjorie. <br /> <br />For the town is black and weary, <br />And I hate the London street; <br />But the country ways are cheery, <br />And country lanes are sweet. <br /> <br />Good luck to you, Paris ladies! <br />Ye are over fine and nice <br />I know where the country maid is, <br />Who needs not asking twice. <br /> <br />Ye are brave in your silks and satins, <br />As ye mince about the Town; <br />But her feet go free in pattens, <br />If she wear a russet gown. <br /> <br />If she be not queen nor goddess <br />She shall milk my brown-eyed herds, <br />And the breasts beneath her bodice <br />Are whiter than her curds. <br /> <br />So I will live in a dairy, <br />And its Colin I will be, <br />And its Joan that I will marry, <br />Or, haply, Marjorie.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/soli-cantare-periti-arcades/
