The Calf

You may have seen, in road or street

At times, when passing by,

A creature with bewildered bleat

Behind a milcher's tail, whose feet

Went pit-pat.  That was I.

Whether we are of Devon kind,

Shorthorns, or Herefords,

We are in general of one mind

That in the human race we find

Our masters and our lords.

When grown up (if they let me live)

And in a dairy-home,

I may less wonder and misgive

Than now, and get contemplative,

and never wish to roam.

And in some fair stream, taking sips,

May stand through summer noons,

With water dribbling from my lips

And rising halfway to my hips,

And babbling pleasant tunes.

Thomas Hardy