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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Bless ye! don't I know the lek?
And the little shiver, and wrappin' the neck,
And lookin' at the moon and sigh'n',
And whisp'rin'—aw, the Ballaquine
Wasn' the only place, d'ye hear—
Not it! not it! aw dear! aw dear!
Strainin' out through honeysuckles,
Or ivy, and her hair in buckles
Of coils and coils; and her body stretchin'
Lek far away, lek longin', lek retchin'
To heaven itself, lek tuk and caught
At some angel—and even you forgot—
Yis, and then a sniff and a sniggle,
And just the smallest taste of a giggle
Lek—bless my sowl! you'd think it was sporras
In the thatch beginnin' their little good-morrows.
And the little shiver, and wrappin' the neck,
And lookin' at the moon and sigh'n',
And whisp'rin'—aw, the Ballaquine
Wasn' the only place, d'ye hear—
Not it! not it! aw dear! aw dear!
Strainin' out through honeysuckles,
Or ivy, and her hair in buckles
Of coils and coils; and her body stretchin'
Lek far away, lek longin', lek retchin'
To heaven itself, lek tuk and caught
At some angel—and even you forgot—
Yis, and then a sniff and a sniggle,
And just the smallest taste of a giggle
Lek—bless my sowl! you'd think it was sporras
In the thatch beginnin' their little good-morrows.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |