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My mother sang that olden tune
      Most every night,
And to her newest she would croon
      By candle light;
While cuddling in the velvet gloom
      I'd dream of cows
That sought each dawn 'mid golden broom
      To gently browse.

Or I would glimpse the silver wood,
      The birchen glade,
Where pearly sheep in quiet mood
      Cropped unafraid;
But how I loved in lapsing drowse
      The mountain wild!
The goats were more than sheep and cows
      To one wee child.

For cows and sheep are shelter-wise,
      And love the lea;
While goats have starlight in their eyes,
      In cragland free . . .
And now on edge of endless sleep
      Wryly I note
How less I'm kin to kine and sheep
      Than rebel goat!