Their domestic rhythm keep,
As with steady sweep they go
Through the gently yielding dough.
Maids may vaunt their finer charms—
Naught to me like Dinah's arms;
Girls may draw, or paint, or sew—
I love Dinah kneading dough.
Eyes of jet and teeth of pearl,
Hair, some say, too tight a-curl;
But the dainty maid I deem