Second Collection. Mindèn House
’Twer when the vo’k wer out to hawl A vield o’ haÿ a day in June, An’ when the zun begun to vall Toward the west in afternoon, Woone only wer a-left behind To bide indoors, at hwome, an’ mind The house, an’ answer vo’k avore The geäte or door,—young Fanny Deäne. The air ’ithin the geärden wall Wer deadly still, unless the bee Did hummy by, or in the hall The clock did ring a-hettèn dree, An’ there, wi’ busy hands, inside The iron ceäsement, oben’d wide, Did zit an’ pull wi’ nimble twitch Her tiny stitch, young Fanny Deäne. As there she zot she heärd two blows A-knock’d upon the rumblèn door, An’ laid azide her work, an’ rose, An’ walk’d out feäir, athirt the vloor; An’ there, a-holdèn in his hand His bridled meäre, a youth did stand, An’ mildly twold his neäme and pleäce Avore the feäce o’ Fanny Deäne. He twold her that he had on hand Zome business on his father’s zide, But what she didden understand; An’ zoo she ax’d en if he’d ride Out where her father mid be vound, Bezide the plow, in Cowslip Ground; An’ there he went, but left his mind Back there behind, wi’ Fanny Deäne. An’ oh! his hwomeward road wer gaÿ In aïr a-blowèn, whiff by whiff, While sheenèn water-weäves did plaÿ An’ boughs did swaÿ above the cliff; Vor Time had now a-show’d en dim The jaÿ it had in store vor him; An’ when he went thik road ageän His errand then wer Fanny Deäne. How strangely things be brought about By Providence, noo tongue can tell, She minded house, when vo’k wer out, An’ zoo mus’ bid the house farewell; The bees mid hum, the clock mid call The lwonesome hours ’ithin the hall, But in behind the woaken door, There’s now noo mwore a Fanny Deäne.
William Barnes’s other poems:
