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C J Dennis - The Wooer
Work rating: Low

I nearly fell fair in my tracks.
I`m trudgin` homeward with my axe
  When I come on her suddenly.
  "I wonder if I`m lost?" says she.
"It`s risky on such roads as this."
I lifts my hat an` says, "Yes, miss."
  I knew `twas rude for me to stare,
  But, oh, that sunlight in her hair!

"I wonder if I`m lost? says she,
An` gives a smile that staggers me.
  "An` yet, it wouldn`t matter much
  Supposing that I was, with such
A glorious green world about,
With bits of blue sky peepin` out.
  Do you think there will be a fog?"
  "No, miss," says I, an` pats my dog.

"Oh, what a dear old dog!" says she.
"Most dogs are pretty fond of me."
  She calls him to her, an` he goes.
  (He didn`t find it hard, I s`pose;
I know I wouldn`t if she called.)
"It`s wondrous how the tracks are walled
  With these great trees that touch the sky
  On either side."  "Yes, miss," says I.

She fondles my old dog a bit;
I wait to make a bolt for it.
  (There ain`t no call to stand an` talk
  With one who`d be too proud to walk
A half-a-yard with such as me.)
"The wind keeps workin` up," says she.
  "Yes, miss," says I, an` lifts me hat.
  An` she just let`s it go at that.

She let me reach the dribblin` ford -
That day to me it fairly roared.
  (At least, that`s how the thing appears;
  But blood was poundin` in my ears.)
She waits till I ahve fairly crossed:
"I thought I told I was lost?"
  She cries.  "An` you go walkin` off,
  Quite scornful, like some proud bush toff!"

She got me thinkin` hard with that.
"Yes, miss," I says, an` lifts my hat.
  But she just waits there on the track,
  An` lets me walk the whole way back.
"An` are you reely lost?" says I.
"Yes, sir," says she an` drops her eye. . . 
  I wait, an` wait for what seems days;
  But not another word she says.

I pats my dog, an` lifts my hat;
But she don`t seem to notice that.
  I looks up trees an` stares at logs,
  An` long for twenty hats an` dogs.
"The weather`s kept reel good to-day,"
I blurts at last.  Say she, "Hurray!"
  "Hurray!" she says, an` then, "Encore!"
  An` gets me wonderin` what for.

"Is this the right road to `The Height?`"
I tell her it`s the road, all right,
  But that the way she`s walkin` ain`t.
  At that she looked like she would faint.
"Then I was lost if I had gone
Along this road an` walked right on -
  An unfrequented bush track, too!
  How fortunate that I met you!"

"Yes, miss," I says.  "Yes - what?" says she.
Says I, "Most fortunate . . . for me."
  I don`t know where I found the pluck
  To blurt that out an` chance my luck.
"You`ll walk," she says, "a short way back,
So you can put me on the track?"
  "I`ll take you all the way," says I,
  An` looks her fair bang in the eye.

Later, I let myself right out,
An` talked: an` told her all about
  The things I`ve done, an` what I do,
  An` nearly all I`m hopin` to.
Told why I chose the game I`m at
Because my folks were poor, an` that.
  She seemed reel pleased to hear me talk,
  An` sort of steadied up the walk.

An` when I`d spoke my little bit,
She just takes up the thread of it;
  An` later on, near knocks me down
  By tellin` me she works - in town.
Works? her? I thought, the way she dressed,
She was quite rich; but she confessed
  That makin` dresses was her game,
  An` she was dead sick of the same.

When Good bye came, I lifts my hat;
But she holds out her hand at that.
  I looked at mine, all stained with sap,
  An` told her I`m a reel rough chap.
"A worker`s hand," says she, reel fine,
"An` marked with toil; but so is mine.
  We`re just two toilers; let us shake,
  An` be good friends - for labour`s sake."

I didn`t care to say no more,
For fear of what she`d take me for -
  But just Good bye, an` turns away,
  Bustin` with things I had to say.
I don`t know how I got right home.
The wonder was I didn`t roam
  Off in the scrub, an` dream out there
  Of her with sunlight in her hair.

At home I looks around the place,
An` sees the dirt a fair disgrace;
  So takes an` tidies up a bit,
  An` has a shave; an` then I sit
Beside my fire to have a think.
But my old dog won`t sleep a wink;
  He fools, an` whines, an` nudges me,
  Then all at once I thinks of tea.

I beg his pardon wiht a smile,
An`. talkin` to him all the while,
  I get it ready, tellin` him
  About that girl; but, "Shut up, Jim!"
he says to me as plain as plain.
"First have some food, an` then explain."
  (I don`t know how she came to tell,
  But I found out her name is Nell.)

We gets our bit to eat at last.
(An`, just for spite, he et his fast) . . .
  I think that Nell`s a reel nice name . . .
"All right, old dog, I ain`t to blame
If you" . . . Just as I go to sup
My tea I stop dead, with my cup
  Half up, an` . . . By the Holy Frost!
  I wonder was Nell reely lost?
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