Second Collection. The Bwoat
Where cows did slowly seek the brink O’ Stour, drough zunburnt grass, to drink; Wi’ vishèn float, that there did zink An’ rise, I zot as in a dream. The dazzlèn zun did cast his light On hedge-row blossom, snowy white, Though nothèn yet did come in zight, A-stirrèn on the straÿèn stream; Till, out by sheädy rocks there show’d, A bwoat along his foamy road, Wi’ thik feäir maid at mill, a-row’d Wi’ Jeäne behind her brother’s oars. An’ steätely as a queen o’ vo’k, She zot wi’ floatèn scarlet cloak, An’ comèn on, at ev’ry stroke, Between my withy-sheäded shores. The broken stream did idly try To show her sheäpe a-ridèn by, The rushes brown-bloom’d stems did ply, As if they bow’d to her by will. The rings o’ water, wi’ a sock, Did break upon the mossy rock, An’ gi’e my beätèn heart a shock, Above my float’s up-leapèn quill. Then, lik’ a cloud below the skies, A-drifted off, wi’ less’nèn size, An’ lost, she floated vrom my eyes, Where down below the stream did wind; An’ left the quiet weäves woonce mwore To zink to rest, a sky-blue’d vloor, Wi’ all so still’s the clote they bore, Aye, all but my own ruffled mind.
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