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The Drained Cup

The snow is witherin� off�n th� gress
Love, should I tell thee summat?
The snow is witherin� off�n th� gress
An� a thick mist sucks at the clots o� snow,
An� the moon above in a weddin� dress
Goes fogged an� slow�
Love, should I tell thee summat?

Tha�s been snowed up i� this cottage wi� me,
Nay, I�m tellin� thee summat.�
Tha�s bin snowed up i� this cottage wi� me
While th� clocks has a� run down an� stopped
An� the short days withering silently
Unbeknown have dropped.
�Yea, but I�m tellin� thee summat.

How many days dost think has gone?�
Now I�m tellin� thee summat.
How many days dost think has gone?
How many days has the candle-light shone
On us as tha got more white an� wan?
�Seven days, or none�
Am I not tellin� thee summat?

Tha come to bid farewell to me�
Tha�rt frit o� summat.
To kiss me and shed a tear wi� me,
Then off and away wi� the weddin� ring
For the girl who was grander, and better than me
For marrying�
Tha�rt frit o� summat?

I durstna kiss thee tha trembles so,
Tha�rt frit o� summat.
Tha arena very flig to go,
�Appen the mist from the thawin� snow
Daunts thee�it isna for love, I know,
That tha�rt loath to go.
�Dear o� me, say summat.

Maun tha cling to the wa� as tha goes,
So bad as that?
Tha�lt niver get into thy weddin� clothes
At that rate�eh, theer goes thy hat;
Ne�er mind, good-bye lad, now I lose
My joy, God knows,
�An� worse nor that.

The road goes under the apple tree;
Look, for I�m showin� thee summat.
An� if it worn�t for the mist, tha�d see
The great black wood on all sides o� thee
Wi� the little pads going cunningly
To ravel thee.
So listen, I�m tellin� thee summat.

When tha comes to the beechen avenue,
I�m warnin� thee o� summat.
Mind tha shall keep inwards, a few
Steps to the right, for the gravel pits
Are steep an� deep wi� watter, an� you
Are scarce o� your wits.
Remember, I�ve warned the o� summat.

An� mind when crossin� the planken bridge,
Again I warn ye o� summat.
Ye slip not on the slippery ridge
Of the thawin� snow, or it�ll be
A long put-back to your gran� marridge,
I�m tellin� ye.
Nay, are ter scared o� summat?

In kep the thick black curtains drawn,
Am I not tellin� thee summat?
Against the knockin� of sevenfold dawn,
An� red-tipped candles from morn to morn
Have dipped an� danced upon thy brawn
Till thou art worn�
Oh, I have cost thee summat.

Look in the mirror an� see thy-sen,
�What, I am showin� thee summat.
Wasted an� wan tha sees thy-sen,
An� thy hand that holds the mirror shakes
Till tha drops the glass and tha shudders when
Thy luck breaks.
Sure, tha�rt afraid o� summat.

Frail thou art, my saucy man,
�Listen, I�m tellin� thee summat.
Tottering and tired thou art, my man,
Tha came to say good-bye to me,
An� tha�s done it so well, that now I can
Part wi� thee.
�Master, I�m givin� thee summat.


D.H. Lawrence


Short Stories
Poetry