ALL-A-BLOWING!
(A Cockney Pastoral in Spring time.)
Who-o-o-f! It's hot amost as Summer-time; yet what a blessed breeze
Is a-whiffing round the corners, and a-whoostling through the trees!
And the sunlight on the roof-slates, all aslant to the blue sky,
Seems to twinkle like the larfter in a pooty gurl's blue eye,
When you swing in the dance, and she feels you've got 'er step:
And the trees—ah! bless their branches!—through the winter weeks they've slep',
When the worrying winds would let 'em, all as black and mum as mutes,