Love Poems and Others/The Drained Cup

​THE DRAINED CUP

The snow is witherin’ off’n th’ gress  Love, should I tell thee summat?The snow is witherin’ off’n th’ gressAn’ a thick mist sucks at the clots o’ snow,An’ the moon above in a weddin’ dressGoes fogged an’ slow—  Love, should I tell thee summat?
Tha’s been snowed up i’ this cottage wi’ me,  Nay, I’m tellin’ thee summat.—Tha’s bin snowed up i’ this cottage wi’ meWhile th’ clocks has a’ run down an’ stoppedAn’ the short days withering silentlyUnbeknown have dropped.  —Yea, but I’m tellin’ thee summat.
How many days dost think has gone?—  Now I’m tellin’ thee summat.How many days dost think has gone?How many days has the candle-light shoneOn us as tha got more white an’ wan?—Seven days, or none—  Am I not tellin’ thee summat?
Tha come to bid farewell to me—  Tha’rt frit o’ summat.To kiss me and shed a tear wi’ me,Then off and away wi’ the weddin’ ringFor the girl who was grander, and better than meFor marrying—  Tha’rt frit o’ summat?
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I durstna kiss thee tha trembles so,  Tha’rt frit o’ summat.Tha arena very flig to go,’Appen the mist from the thawin’ snowDaunts thee—it isna for love, I know,That tha’rt loath to go.  —Dear o’ me, say summat.
Maun tha cling to the wa’ as tha goes,  So bad as that?Tha’lt niver get into thy weddin’ clothesAt that rate—eh, theer goes thy hat;Ne’er mind, good-bye lad, now I loseMy joy, God knows,  —An’ worse nor that.
The road goes under the apple tree;  Look, for I’m showin’ thee summat.An’ if it worn’t for the mist, tha’d seeThe great black wood on all sides o’ theeWi’ the little pads going cunninglyTo ravel thee.  So listen, I’m tellin’ thee summat.
When tha comes to the beechen avenue,  I’m warnin’ thee o’ summat.Mind tha shall keep inwards, a fewSteps to the right, for the gravel pitsAre steep an’ deep wi’ watter, an’ youAre scarce o’ your wits.  Remember, I’ve warned thee o’ summat.
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An’ mind when crossin’ the planken bridge,  Again I warn ye o’ summat.Ye slip not on the slippery ridgeOf the thawin’ snow, or it’ll beA long put-back to your gran’ marridge,I’m tellin’ ye.  Nay, are ter scared o’ summat?
In kep the thick black curtains drawn,  Am I not tellin’ thee summat?Against the knockin’ of sevenfold dawn,An’ red-tipped candles from morn to mornHave dipped an’ danced upon thy brawnTill thou art worn—  Oh, I have cost thee summat.
Look in the mirror an’ see thy-sen,  —What, I am showin’ thee summat.Wasted an’ wan tha sees thy-sen,An’ thy hand that holds the mirror shakesTill tha drops the glass and tha shudders whenThy luck breaks.  Sure, tha’rt afraid o’ summat.
Frail thou art, my saucy man,  —Listen, I’m tellin’ thee summat.Tottering and tired thou art, my man,Tha came to say good-bye to me,An’ tha’s done it so well, that now I canPart wi’ thee.  —Master, I’m givin’ thee summat.

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