Thomas Hardy — Julie-Jane

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!"        &nbsp When we sat making the mourning        &nbsp By her death-bed side, said she, "Dears, how can you keep from your lovers, adorning        &nbsp       &nbsp In honour of me!"        &nbsp Bubbling and brightsome eyed!        &nbsp But now—O never again. She chose her bearers before she died        &nbsp       &nbsp From her fancy-men.