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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.
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