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In Trouble IT’S all for nothing: I’ve lost him now. I suppose it had to be; But oh, I never thought it of him, Nor he never thought it of me. And all for a kiss on your evening out, And a field where the grass was down . . . And he ’as gone to God-knows-where, And I may go on the town. The worst of all was the thing he said The night that he went away; He said he’d ’a married me right enough If I hadn’t ’a been so gay. Me—gay! When I’d cried, and I’d asked him not, But he said he loved me so; An’ whatever he wanted seemed right to me . . . An’ how was a girl to know? Well, the river is deep, and drowned folk sleep sound, An’ it might be the best to do; But when he made me a light-o’-love He made me a mother too. I’ve had enough sin to last my time, If ’twas sin as I got it by, But it ain’t no sin to stand by his kid And work for it till I die. But oh! the long days and the death-long nights When I feel it move and turn, And cry alone in my single bed And count what a girl can earn To buy the baby the bits of things _He_ ought to ha’ bought, by rights; And wonder whether he thinks of Us . . . And if he sleeps sound o’ nights. Edith Nesbit's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1255 |
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