WHO is the girl I love the best ?

She with the pillared neck of snow?
She with hands that never rest

And never labor? Ah! no, no !
The girl I love lifts up her hands
And in the kitchen door she stands,
And o'er the meadows and the fields
Her rich and splendid anthem peals
' Supper 's ready !'

The horses halt and slack their traces,
The weary workers lift their heads,

Light is on the hired men's faces

As through the fields the anthem spreads ;

The brown faced girl I love is standing

Tip-toed on the kitchen landing ;

She cannot cry nor call in vain,

Her sounding voice rings down the lane
' Supper 's ready.'

The horses drink, the cattle stare,

And wonder at the curious plan ;
The plow is stopped and in the air

I hear the jokef ul hired man ;
But on the porch, with face of brown,
Sunburned hands and modest gown,
She startles all the fields with this
'Tis sweeter than a woman's kiss
' Supper 's ready.'