First Collection. Summer. Vields in the Light
Woone’s heart mid leäp wi’ thoughts o’ jaÿ In comèn manhood light an’ gaÿ When we do teäke the worold on Vrom our vore-elders dead an’ gone; But days so feäir in hope’s bright eyes Do often come wi’ zunless skies: Woone’s fancy can but be out-done, Where trees do swaÿ an’ brooks do run, By risèn moon or zettèn zun. Vor when at evenèn I do look All down theäse hangèn on the brook, Wi’ weäves a-leäpèn clear an’ bright, Where boughs do swaÿ in yollow light; Noo hills nor hollows, woods nor streams, A-voun’ by daÿ or zeed in dreams, Can ever seem so fit to be Good angel’s hwomes, though they do gi’e But païn an’ tweil to such as we. An’ when by moonlight darksome sheädes Do lie in grass wi’ dewy bleädes, An’ worold-hushèn night do keep The proud an’ angry vast asleep, When I can think, as I do rove, Ov only souls that I do love; Then who can dream a dream to show, Or who can think o’ moons to drow, A sweeter light to rove below?
William Barnes’s other poems:
- First Collection. Winter. Keepèn up o’ Chris’mas
- Third Collection. Comen Hwome
- Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
- Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
- Third Collection. Things do Come Round
953