Oh! no, I quite injaÿ’d the ride
Behind wold Dobbin’s heavy heels,
Wi’ Jeäne a-prattlèn at my zide,
Above our peäir o’ spinnèn wheels,
As grey-rin’d ashes’ swaÿèn tops
Did creak in moonlight in the copse,
Above the quiv’rèn grass, a-beät
By wind a-blowèn drough the geät.
If weary souls did want their sleep,
They had a-zent vor sleep the night;
Vor vo’k that had a call to keep
Awake, lik’ us, there still wer light.
An’ He that shut the sleepers’ eyes,
A-waïtèn vor the zun to rise,
Ha’ too much love to let em know
The ling’rèn night did goo so slow.
But if my wife did catch a zight
O’ zome queer pollard, or a post,
Poor soul! she took en in her fright
To be a robber or a ghost.
A two-stump’d withy, wi’ a head,
Mus’ be a man wi’ eärms a-spread;
An’ foam o’ water, round a rock,
Wer then a drownèn leädy’s frock.
Zome staddle stwones to bear a mow,
Wer dancèn veäries on the lag;
An’ then a snow-white sheeted cow
Could only be, she thought, their flag,
An owl a-vleèn drough the wood
Wer men on watch vor little good;
An’ geätes a slam’d by wind, did goo,
She thought, to let a robber drough.
But after all, she lik’d the zight
O’ cows asleep in glitt’rèn dew;
An’ brooks that gleam’d below the light,
An’ dim vield paths ‘ithout a shoe.
An’ gaïly talk’d bezide my ears,
A-laughèn off her needless fears:
Or had the childern uppermost
In mind, instead o’ thief or ghost.
An’ when our house, wi’ open door,
Did rumble hollow round our heads,
She heästen’d up to tother vloor,
To zee the childern in their beds;
An’ vound woone little head awry,
Wi’ woone a-turn’d toward the sky;
An’ wrung her hands ageän her breast,
A-smilèn at their happy rest.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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