And so thou wert God-shapen: His finger Curved thy mouth for thee, and His strong shoulder Planted thee upright: art not proud to see In the curve of thine exquisite form the joy of the Moulder? He took a handful of light and rolled a ball, Compressed it till its beam grew wondrous dark, Then gave thee thy dark eyes, O Man, that all He made had doorway to thee through that spark. God, lonely, put down His mouth in a kiss of creation, He kissed thee, O Man, in a passion of love, and left The vivid life of His love in thy mouth and thy nostrils; Keep then the kiss from the adultress' theft. VIOLETS Sister, tha knows while we was on the planks Aside o' th' grave, while th' coffin wor lyin' yet On th' yaller clay, an' th' white flowers top of it Tryin' to keep off 'n him a bit o' th' wet, An' parson makin' haste, an' a' the black Huddlin' close together a cause o' th' rain, Did t' 'appen ter notice a bit of a lass away back By a head-stun, sobbin' an' sobbin' again? --How should I be lookin' round An' me standin' on the plank Beside the open ground, Where our Ted 'ud soon be sank? Yi, an' 'im that young, Snapped sudden out of all His wickedness, among Pals worse n'r ony name as you could call. Let be that; there's some o' th' bad as we Like better nor all your good, an' 'e was one. --An' cos I liked him best, yi, bett'r nor thee, I canna bide to think where he is gone. Ah know tha liked 'im bett'r nor me. But let Me tell thee about this lass. When you had gone Ah stopped behind on t' pad i' th' drippin wet An' watched what 'er 'ad on. Tha should ha' seed her slive up when we'd gone, Tha should ha' seed her kneel an' look in 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. WHETHER OR NOT I Dunna thee tell me its his'n, mother, Dunna thee, dunna thee. --Oh ay! he'll be comin' to tell thee his-sèn Wench, wunna he? Tha doesna mean to say to me, mother, He's gone wi that-- --My gel, owt'll do for a man i' the dark, Tha's got it flat. But 'er's old, mother, 'er's twenty year Older nor him-- --Ay, an' yaller as a crowflower, an' yet i' the dark Er'd do for Tim. Tha niver believes it, mother, does ter? It's somebody's lies. --Ax him thy-sèn wench--a widder's lodger; It's no surprise. II A widow of forty-five With a bitter, swarthy skin, To ha' 'ticed a lad o' twenty-five An' 'im to have been took in!