Julie-Jane Thomas Hardy

Sing; how 'a would sing!
       &nbsp How 'a would raise the tune
When we rode in the waggon from harvesting
       &nbsp       &nbsp By the light o' the moon!

       &nbsp Dance; how 'a would dance!
       &nbsp If a fiddlestring did but sound
She would hold out her coats, give a slanting glance,
       &nbsp       &nbsp And go round and round.

       &nbsp Laugh; how 'a would laugh!
       &nbsp Her peony lips would part
As if none such a place for a lover to quaff
       &nbsp       &nbsp At the deeps of a heart.

       &nbsp Julie, O girl of joy,
       &nbsp Soon, soon that lover he came.
Ah, yes; and gave thee a baby-boy,
       &nbsp       &nbsp But never his name . . .

       &nbsp —Tolling for her, as you guess;
       &nbsp And the baby too . . . 'Tis well.
You knew her in maidhood likewise?—Yes,
       &nbsp       &nbsp That's her burial bell.

       &nbsp "I suppose," with a laugh, she said,
       &nbsp "I should blush that I'm not a wife;
But how can it matter, so soon to be dead,
       &nbsp       &nbsp What one does in life!"