First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Hwomestead
If I had all the land my zight Can overlook vrom Chalwell hill, Vrom Sherborn left to Blanvord right, Why I could be but happy still. An’ I be happy wi’ my spot O’ freehold ground an’ mossy cot, An’ shoulden get a better lot If I had all my will. My orcha’d’s wide, my trees be young; An’ they do bear such heavy crops, Their boughs, lik’ onion-rwopes a-hung, Be all a-trigg’d to year, wi’ props. I got some geärden groun’ to dig, A parrock, an’ a cow an’ pig; I got zome cider vor to swig, An’ eäle o’ malt an’ hops. I’m landlord o’ my little farm, I’m king ’ithin my little pleäce; I don’t break laws, an’ don’t do harm, An’ bent afeär’d o’ noo man’s feäce. When I’m a-cover’d wi’ my thatch, Noo man do deäre to lift my latch; Where honest han’s do shut the hatch, There fear do leäve the pleäce. My lofty elem trees do screen My brown-ruf’d house, an’ here below, My geese do strut athirt the green, An’ hiss an’ flap their wings o’ snow; As I do walk along a rank Ov apple trees, or by a bank, Or zit upon a bar or plank, To see how things do grow.
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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