Rejected Poem by Violet Jacob

I'M fairly disjaskit, Christina,
The warld an its glories are tuim;
I'm laid like a stane whaur ye left me,
To greet wi my held i' the broom.
A' day haes the laverock been singin
Up yont, far awa i' the blue,
I thocht that his sang was sae bonnie,
Bit it disna seem bonnie the noo!
A' day haes the cushie been coortin
His joe i' the bous o the ash,
But gin Love was wheeped frae the pairish,
It isna mysel that wad fash!
For losh! what a wark I've haed wi ye!
At mairkit, at kirk, an at fair,
I've ne'er let anither lad near ye-
An what can a lassie need mair?
An oh! but I've socht ye an watched ye,
Whauriver yer fitsteps was set,
Gin ye haed but yer neb i' the gairden
I was aye glowerin in at the yett!
Ye'll mind when ye sat at the windy,
Dressed oot in yer fine Sawbath black,
Richt brawly I kent that ye saw me,
But ye juist slippit oot at the back.
Christina, 'twas shamefu-aye was it!
Affrontin a man like mysel,
I'm thinkin ye're daft, for what ails ye
Is past comprehension to tell.
Guid stuff's no sae common, Christina,
An whiles it's no easy to see;
Ye micht tryst wi the Laird or the Provost,
But ye'll no finnd the marrows o me!