Thomas Hardy

The Pat of Butter

Once, at the Agricultural Show,
      We tasted—all so yellow—
      Those butter-pats, cool and mellow!
Each taste I still remember, though
      It was so long ago.

This spoke of the grass of Netherhay,
      And this of Kingcomb Hill,
      And this of Coker Rill:
Which was the prime I could not say
      Of all those tried that day,

Till she, the fair and wicked-eyed,
      Held out a pat to me:
      Then felt I all Yeo-Lea
Was by her sample sheer outvied;
      And, ‘This is the best,’ I cried.