The farmhouse is clad in an ivy green cloak
The roof is of thatch and its timbers of oak
O’er porch and round window the wild roses creep
While just at the side are the cows and the sheep
But what gives the picture its prettiest charm 
Is Polly the milkmaid of Cherry-tree farm.

She trips o’er the meadow with milkpail in hand
Her laughter and song waken love in the land
The barley grows golden and full at her smile
No milk like the farmer’s for many a mile
And the farmer will soon take the pail from her arm
And make her the mistress of Cherry-tree farm.