First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Pleäce a Teäle’s a-twold o’
Why tidden vields an’ runnèn brooks, Nor trees in Spring or fall; An’ tidden woody slopes an’ nooks, Do touch us mwost ov all; An’ tidden ivy that do cling By housen big an’ wold, O, But this is, after all, the thing,— The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’. At Burn, where mother’s young friends know’d The vu’st her maïden neäme, The zunny knaps, the narrow road An’ green, be still the seäme; The squier’s house, an’ ev’ry ground That now his son ha’ zwold, O, An’ ev’ry wood he hunted round ’S a pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’. The maïd a-lov’d to our heart’s core, The dearest of our kin, Do meäke us like the very door Where they went out an’ in. ’Tis zome’hat touchèn that bevel Poor flesh an’ blood o’ wold, O, Do meäke us like to zee so well The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’. When blushèn Jenny vu’st did come To zee our Poll o’ nights, An’ had to goo back leätish hwome, Where vo’k did zee the zights, A-chattèn loud below the sky So dark, an’ winds so cwold, O, How proud war I to zee her by The pleäce the teäle’s a-twold o’. Zoo whether ’tis the humpy ground That wer a battle viel’, Or mossy house, all ivy-bound, An’ vallèn down piece-meal; Or if ’tis but a scraggy tree, Where beauty smil’d o’ wold, O, How dearly I do like to zee The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.
William Barnes’s other poems:
