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C J Dennis - Washing Day
Work rating: Low

The little gipsy vi`lits, they wus peepin` thro` the green
As she come walkin` in the grass, me little wife, Doreen.
     The sun shone on the sassafras, where thrushes sung a bar.
     -The `ope an` worry uv our lives wus yelling fer `is Mar. -
I watched `er comin` down the green; the sun wus on `her `air -
Jist the woman that I marri`d, when me luck wus `eading fair.

I seen `er walkin` in the sun that lit our little farm.
She `ad three clothes-pegs in `er mouth, an` washin` on `er arm -
     Three clothes-pegs, fer I counted `em, an` watched `er as she come.
     "The stove-wood`s low," she mumbles, "an` young Bill `as cut `is thumb,"
Now, it weren`t no giddy love-speech, but it seemd to take me straight
Back to the time I kissed `er first beside `er mother`s gate.

Six years `uv wedded life we`ve `ad, an` still me dreams is sweet. . . 
Aw, them bonzer little vi`lits, they wus smilin` round me feet.
     An` wots a bit uv stove-wood count, wiv paddicks grinnin` green,
     When a bloke gits on to dreamin` uv the old days an` Doreen -
The days I thort I snared a saint; but since I`ve understood
I `ave wed a dinkum woman, which is fifty times as good.

I `ave wed a dinkum woman, an` she`s give me eyes to see.
Oh, I ain`t been mollycoddled, an` there ain`t no fluff on me!
     But days when I wus down an` out she seemd so `igh above;
     An` a saint is made fer worship, but a woman`s made fer love.
An` a bloke is growin` richer as sich things `e comes to know. . . 
(She pegs another sheet an` sez, "The stove-wood`s gettin` low.")

A bloke `e learns a lot uv things in six years wiv a tart;
But thrushes in the sassafras ain`t singin` like me `eart.
     `Tis the thrushes `oo `ave tort me in their choonful sort o` way
     That it`s best to take things singin` as yeh meet `em day be day.
Fer I wed a reel, live woman, wiv a woman`s `appy knack
Uv torkin` reason inside out an` logic front to back.

An` I like it. `Struth I like it! Fer a wax doll in a `ome,
She`d give a man the flamin` pip an` longin`s fer to roam.
     Aw, I ain`t no silk-sock sookie `oo ab`ors the rood an` rough;
     Fer, city-born an` gutter-bred, me schoolin` it wus tough.
An` I like the dinkum woman `oo . . . (She jerks the clothes-prop, so,
An` sez, so sweet an` dangerous, "The stove-wood`s gittin` low.")

See, I`ve studied men in cities, an` I`ve studied `em out `ere;
I`ve seen `em `ard thro` piety an` seen `em kind thro` beer.
     I`ve seen the meanest doin` deeds to make the angels smile,
     An` watched the proudest playin` games that crooks `ud reckon vile.
I`ve studied `em in bunches an` I`ve read `em one be one,
An` there isn`t much between `em when the `ole thing`s said an` done.

An` I`ve sort o` studied wimmin - fer I`ve met a tidy few -
An` there`s times, when I wus younger, when I kids meself I knew.
     But `im `oo `opes to count the stars or measure up the sea,
     `E kin `ave a shot at woman, fer she`s fairly flummoxed me. . . 
("I`ll `ave to `ave some wood," she sez, and sez it most perlite
An` secret to a pair uv socks; an` jams a peg in, tight.)

Now, a woman, she`s a woman. I `ave fixed that fer a cert.
They`re jist as like as rows uv peas from `at to `em uv skirt.
     An` then, they`re all so different, yeh find, before yeh`ve done.
     The more yeh know uv all of `em the less yeh know uv one.
An` then, the more yeh know uv one. . .(She gives `er `air a touch:
"The stove-wood`s nearly done," she sez.  "Not that it matters much")

The little gipsy vi`lits, they wus smilin` round me feet.
An` this dreamin` dilly day-dreams on a Summer day wus sweet.
     I `eaves me frame frum orf the fence, an` grab sme little axe;
     But, when I`m `arf way to the shed, she stops me in me tracks.
"Yer lunch is ready.  That ole wood kin wait a while."
Strike! I`m marri`d to a woman. . . But she never seen me smile.
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