Page:Love Poems and Others.djvu/68

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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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