In the licorice fields at
My love and I did
And many a burdened licorice
Was blooming round our feet;
Red hair she had and golden skin,
Her sulky lips were shaped for sin,
Her sturdy legs were
The strongest legs in Pontefract.
The light and dangling licorice
Gave off the sweetest smells;
From various black Victorian
The Sunday evening
Came pealing over dales and
And tanneries and silent
And lowly streets where country
And little shuttered corner shops.
She cast her blazing eyes on
And plucked a licorice leaf;
I was her captive slave and
My red-haired robber chief.
Oh love! for love I could not speak,
It left me winded, wilting, weak,
And held in brown arms strong and
And wound with flaming ropes of hair.
