IT’S nobbut cock-leet, Sweetheart! Hast come by Yorla Moor?
Whya, Lad! thoo mun be famished! I’ Muther’s cheeany crock
Are spice-loaves an’ fat-rascals! Dost hear my Father snore? …
Hark! Half-past four a-soundin’ fra’ Yorla tower clock!
Whisht noo! Gie ower cuddlin’, Lad, an’ doan’t be sae rough!
I’se t’ cows to milk, t’ butter to kurn, an’ tak’ to Dunnel Brigg . . .
Yet I’se fain to gan sweetheartin’ up bonnie Altor Cleugh,
Forgittin’ a’ but thee an’ me, by t’ birks o’ Wyresal Rigg.
Wheer t’ moortops are a-ringin’ wi’ t’ canty lilt o’ t’ lark,
Wheer foxes hide i’ brekkons an’t’ grass is rare to tread;
Ay, Lad, I’ll coom sweetheartin’ wi’ thee at t’ edge o’dark . . .
But wark’s to do at cock-leet, an’ my folk are still a-bed!
(Dorothy Una Ratcliffe)
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Based on Topics: Romantic Love PoemsBased on Keywords: mun, coom, doan, wark, nobbut, canty, crock, ower, wheer, a-bed, whisht