First Collection. Winter. In the Stillness o’ the Night
Ov all the housen o’ the pleäce, There ’s woone where I do like to call By day or night the best ov all, To zee my Fanny’s smilèn feäce; An’ there the steätely trees do grow, A-rockèn as the win’ do blow, While she do sweetly sleep below, In the stillness o’ the night. An’ there, at evenèn, I do goo A-hoppèn over geätes an’ bars, By twinklèn light o’ winter stars, When snow do clumper to my shoe; An’ zometimes we do slyly catch A chat an hour upon the stratch, An’ peärt wi’ whispers at the hatch In the stillness o’ the night. An’ zometimes she do goo to zome Young naïghbours’ housen down the pleäce, An’ I do get a clue to treäce Her out, an’ goo to zee her hwome; An’ I do wish a vield a mile, As she do sweetly chat an’ smile Along the drove, or at the stile, In the stillness o’ the night.
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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