Explore "Doreen" by C.J. Dennis on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The little gipsy vi'lits, they wus peepin' thro' the green As she come walkin' in the grass, me little wife, Doreen. The sun shone on the sassafras, where thrushes sung a bar. --The 'ope an' worry uv our lives wus yelling fer 'is Mar.-- I watched 'er comin' down the green; the sun wus on 'er 'air-- Jist the woman that I marri'd, when me luck wus 'eading fair.
I seen 'er walkin' in the sun that lit our little farm. She 'ad three clothes-pegs in 'er mouth, an' washin' on 'er arm-- Three clothes-pegs, fer I counted 'em, an' watched 'er as she come. "The stove-wood's low," she mumbles, "an' young Bill 'as cut 'is thumb," Now, it weren't no giddy love-speech, but it seemd to take me straight Back to the time I kissed 'er first beside 'er mother's gate.