First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Stwonèn Pworch
A new house! Ees, indeed! a small Straïght, upstart thing, that, after all, Do teäke in only half the groun’ The wold woone did avore ’twer down; Wi’ little windows straïght an’ flat, Not big enough to zun a-cat, An’ dealèn door a-meäde so thin, A puff o’ wind would blow en in, Where woone do vind a thing to knock So small’s the hammer ov a clock, That wull but meäke a little click About so loud’s a clock do tick! Gi’e me the wold house, wi’ the wide An’ lofty-lo’ted rooms inside; An’ wi’ the stwonfèn pworch avore The naïl-bestudded woaken door, That had a knocker very little Less to handle than a bittle, That het a blow that vied so loud Drough house as thunder drough a cloud, An’ meäde the dog behind the door Growl out so deep’s a bull do roar. In all the house, o’ young an’ wold, There werden woone but could a-twold When he’d noo wish to seek abrode Mwore jaÿ than thik wold pworch bestow’d! For there, when yollow evenèn shed His light ageän the elem’s head, An’ gnots did whiver in the zun, An’ uncle’s work wer all a-done, His whiffs o’ meltèn smoke did roll Above his bendèn pipe’s white bowl, While he did chat, or, zittèn dumb, Injaÿ his thoughts as they did come. An’ Jimmy, wi’ his crowd below His chin, did dreve his nimble bow In tuèns vor to meäke us spring A-reelèn, or in zongs to zing, An’ there, between the dark an’ light, Zot Poll by Willy’s zide at night A-whisp’rèn, while her eyes did zwim In jaÿ avore the twilight dim; An’ when (to know if she wer near) Aunt call’d, did cry, “Ees, mother; here.” No, no; I woulden gi’e thee thanks Vor fine white walls an’ vloors o’ planks, Nor doors a-païnted up so fine. If I’d a wold grey house o’ mine, Gi’e me vor all it should be small, A stwonèn pworch instead ō’t all.
William Barnes’s other poems:
