# The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke/I. A Spring Song

* A Spring Song
* HE world 'as got me snouted jist a treat;
* Crool Forchin's dirty left 'as smote me soul;
* An' all them joys o' life I 'eld so sweet
* Is up the pole.
* Fer, as the poit sez, me 'eart 'as got
* The pip wiv yearnin' fer—I dunno wot.
* I'm crook; me name is Mud; I've done me dash;
* Me flamin' spirit's got the flamin' 'ump!
* I'm longin' to let loose on somethin' rash….
* Aw, I'm a chump!
* I know it; but this blimed ole Springtime craze
* Fair outs me, on these dilly, silly days.
* The young green leaves is shootin' on the trees,
* The air is like a long, cool swig o' beer,
* The bonzer smell o' flow'rs is on the breeze,
* An' 'ere's me, 'ere,
* Jist moochin' round like some pore, barmy coot,
* Uv 'ope, an' joy, an' forchin destichoot.
* ​I've lorst me former joy in gittin' shick,
* Or 'eadin' browns; I 'aven't got the 'eart
* To word a tom; an', square an' all, I'm sick
* Uv that cheap tart
* 'Oo chucks 'er carkis at a feller's 'ead
* An' mauls 'im… Ar! I wish that I wus dead!…
* Ther's little breezes stirrin' in the leaves,
* An' sparrers chirpin' 'igh the 'ole day long;
* An' on the air a sad, sweet music breaves
* A bonzer song—
* A mournful sort o' choon thet gits a bloke
* Fair in the brisket 'ere, an' makes 'im choke….
* What is the matter wiv me?… I dunno.
* I got a sort o' yearnin' 'ere inside,
* A dead crook sort o' thing that won't let go
* Or be denied—
* A feelin' like I want to do a break,
* An' stoush creation for some woman's sake.
* The little birds is chirpin' in the nest,
* The parks an' gardings is a bosker sight,
* Where smilin' tarts walk up an' down, all dressed
* In clobber white.
* An', as their snowy forms goes steppin' by,
* It seems I'm seekin' somethin' on the sly.
* ​Somethin' or someone—I don't rightly know;
* But, seems to me, I'm kind o' lookin' for
* A tart I knoo a 'undred years ago,
* Or, maybe, more.
* Wot's this I've 'eard them call that thing?… Geewhizz!
* Me ideel bit o' skirt! That's wot it is!
* Me ideel tart!… An', bli'me, look at me!
* Jist take a squiz at this, an' tell me can
* Some square an' honist tom take this to be
* 'Er own true man?
* Aw, Gawd! I'd be as true to 'er, I would—
* As straight an' stiddy as… Ar, wot's the good?
* Me, that 'as done me stretch fer stoushin' Johns,
* An' spen's me leisure gittin' on the shick,
* An' 'arf me nights down there, in Little Lons.,
* Wiv Ginger Mick,
* Jist 'eadin' 'em, an' doin' in me gilt.
* Tough luck! I s'pose it's 'ow a man is built.
* It's 'ow Gawd builds a bloke; but don't it 'urt
* When 'e gits yearnin's fer this 'igher life,
* On these Spring mornin's, watchin' some sweet skirt—
* Some fucher wife—
* Go sailin' by, an' turnin' on 'is phiz
* The glarssy eye—fer bein' wot 'e is.
* ​I've watched 'em walkin' in the gardings 'ere—
* Cliners frum orfices an' shops an' such;
* The sort o' skirts I dursn't come too near,
* Or dare to touch.
* An' when I see the kind o' looks they carst…
* Gawstruth! Wot is the use o' me, I arst?
* Wot wus I slung 'ere for? An' wot's the good
* Uv yearnin' after any ideel tart?…
* Ar, if a bloke wus only understood!
* 'E's got a 'eart:
* 'E's got a soul inside 'im, poor or rich.
* But wot's the use, when 'Eaven's crool'd 'is pitch?
* I tells meself some day I'll take a pull
* An' look eround fer some good stiddy job,
* An' cut the push fer good an' all; I'm full
* Uv that crook mob!
* An', in some Spring the fucher 'olds in store,
* I'll cop me prize an' long in vain no more.
* The little winds is stirrin' in the trees,
* Where little birds is chantin' lovers' lays;
* The music uv the sorft an' barmy breeze….
* Aw, spare me days!
* If this 'ere dilly feelin' doesn't stop
* I'll lose me block an' stoush some flamin' cop!