At th’ sloppy wet grave—an’ ’er little neck shone
That white, an’ ’er shook that much, I’d like to begin
Scraïghtin’ my-sen as well. ’En undid her black
Jacket at th’ bosom, an’ took from out of it
Over a double ’andful of violets, all in a pack
Ravelled blue and white—warm, for a bit
O’ th’ smell come waftin’ to me. ’Er put ’er face
Right intil ’em and scraïghted out again,
Then after a bit ’er dropped ’em down that place,
An’ I come away, because o’ the teemin’ rain.