The Whistling Girl

Back of my back, they talk of me, Gabble and honk and hiss; Let them batten, and let them be- Me, I can sing them this: "Better to shiver beneath the stars, Head on a faithless breast, Than peer at the night through rusted bars, And share an irksome rest. "Better to see the dawn come up, Along of a trifling one, Than set a steady man's cloth and cup And pray the day be done. "Better be left by twenty dears Than lie in a loveless bed; Better a loaf that's wet with tears Than cold, unsalted bread." Back of my back, they wag their chins, Whinny and bleat and sigh; But better a heart a-bloom with sins Than hearts gone yellow and dry!