An' she blink'd wi' her head all a-zide,
An' a-chucklèn, went back to her pleäce.
An' in there, as we zot roun' the brands,
Though the talkers wer maïnly the men,
Bloomèn Jeäne, wi' her work in her hands,
Did put in a good word now an' then.
An' when I took my leave, though so bleäk
Wer the weather, she went to the door,
Wi' a smile, an' a blush on the cheäk
That the snow had a-smitten avore.