First Collection. Sundry Pieces. Poll
When out below the trees, that drow’d Their scraggy lim’s athirt the road, While evenèn zuns, a’móst a-zet, Gi’ed goolden light, but little het, The merry chaps an’ maïdens met, An’ look’d to zomebody to neäme Their bit o’ fun, a dance or geäme, ’Twer Poll they cluster’d round. An’ after they’d a-had enough O’ snappèn tongs, or blind-man’s buff, O’ winter nights, an’ went an’ stood Avore the vire o’ bleäzen wood, Though there wer maïdens kind an’ good, Though there wer maïdens feäir an’ tall, ’Twer Poll that wer the queen o’m all, An’ Poll they cluster’d round. An’ when the childern used to catch A glimpse o’ Poll avore the hatch, The little things did run to meet Their friend wi’ skippèn tott’rèn veet. An’ thought noo other kiss so sweet As hers; an’ nwone could vind em out Such geämes to meäke em jump an’ shout, As Poll they cluster’d round. An’ now, since she’ve a-left em, all The pleäce do miss her, girt an’ small. In vaïn vor them the zun do sheen Upon the lwonesome rwoad an’ green; Their zwing do hang vorgot between The leänen trees, vor they’ve a-lost The best o’ maïdens, to their cost, The maïd they cluster’d round.
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
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