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C J Dennis - A Spring Song
Work rating: Low

The world `as got me snouted jist a treat;
   Crool Forchin`s dirty left `as smote me soul;
An` all them joys o` life I `eld so sweet
   Is up the pole.
Fer, as the poit sez, me `eart `as got
The pip wiv yearnin` fer - I dunno wot.

I`m crook; me name is Mud; I`ve done me dash;
   Me flamin` spirit`s got the flamin` `ump!
I`m longin` to let loose on somethin` rash….
   Aw, I`m a chump!
I know it; but this blimed ole Springtime craze
Fair outs me, on these dilly, silly days.

The young green leaves is shootin` on the trees,
   The air is like a long, cool swig o` beer,
The bonzer smell o` flow`rs is on the breeze
   An `ere`s me, `ere,
Jist mooching around like some pore, barmy coot,
Of `ope, an` joy, an` forchin destichoot.

I`ve lorst me former joy in gettin` shick,
   Or `eadin` browns; I `aven`t got the `eart
To word a tom; an` square an` all, I`m sick
   Of that cheap tart
`Oo chucks `er carcis at a feller`s `head
An` mauls `im… Ar! I wish`t that I wus dead!…

Ther`s little breezes stirrin` in the leaves,
   An sparrers chirpin` `igh the `ole day long;
An `on the air a sad, sweet music breaves
   A bonzer song -
A mournful sorter choon thet gits a bloke
Fair in the brisket `ere, an` makes `im choke…

What is the matter wiv me?… I dunno.
   I got a sorter yearning `ere inside,
A dead-crook sorter thing that won`t let go
   Or be denied -
A feelin` I want to do a break,
An` stoush creation for some woman`s sake.

The little birds is chirpin` in the nest,
   The parks an` gardings is a bosker sight,
Where smilin` tarts walks up an` down, all dressed
   In clobber white.
An`, as their snowy forms goes steppin` by,
It seems I`m seekin` something on the sly.

Somethin` or someone - I don`t rightly know;
   But, seems to me, I`m kind er lookin` for
A tart I knoo a `undred years ago,
   Or, maybe, more.
Wot`s this I`ve `eard them call that thing?… Geewhizz!
Me ideel bit o` skirt!  That`s wot it is!

Me ideel tart!… An, bli`me, look at me!
   Jist take a squiz at this, an` tell me can
Some square an` honist tom take this to be
   `Er own true man?
Aw, Gawd!  I`d be as true to `er, I would -
As straight an` stiddy as… Ar, wot`s the good?

Me, that `as done me stretch fer stoushin` Johns,
   An` spen`s me leisure getting on the shick,
An` `arf me nights down there in Little Lon.,
   Wiv Ginger Mick,
Jist `eading `em, an` doing in me gilt.
Tough luck!  I s`pose it`s `ow a man is built.

It`s `ow Gawd builds a bloke; but don`t it `urt
   When `e gits yearnin`s fer this `igher life,
On these Spring mornin`s, watchin` some sweet skirt -
   Some fucher wife -
Go sailin` by, an` turnin` on his phiz
The glarssy eye - fere bein` wot `e is.

I`ve watched `em walkin` in the gardings `ere -
   Cliners from orfices an` shops an` such;
The sorter skirts I dursn`t come too near,
   Or dare to touch.
An, when I see the kind er looks they carst…
Gorstooth!  Wot is the use o` me, I arst?

Wot wus I slung `ere for?  An` wot`s the good
   Of yearnin` after any ideel tart?
Ar, if a bloke wus only understood!
   `E`s got a `eart:
`E`s got a soul inside `im, poor or rich.
But wot`s the use, when `Eaven`s crool`d `is pitch?

I tells meself some day I`ll take a pull
   An` look around fer some good, stiddy job,
An` cut the push fer good an` all; I`m full
   Of that crook mob!
An`, in some Spring the fucher `olds in store,
I`ll cop me prize an` long in vain no more.

The little winds is stirrin` in the trees,
   Where little birds is chantin` lovers` lays;
The music of the sorft an` barmy breeze…
   Aw, spare me days!
If this `ere dilly feelin` doesn`t stop
I`ll lose me block an` stoush some flamin` cop!
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