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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Aw, he had to keep quiet—his only look out;
And as long as he could, there isn' no doubt
The man had a surt of happiness,
A surt of peace, a surt of rest—
A surt—but still he knew if he'd spake
One word that Nelly couldn' mistake,
One word! his dhrame would go like a puff—
That's what my lad knew well enough.
And as long as he could, there isn' no doubt
The man had a surt of happiness,
A surt of peace, a surt of rest—
A surt—but still he knew if he'd spake
One word that Nelly couldn' mistake,
One word! his dhrame would go like a puff—
That's what my lad knew well enough.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |