Second Collection. The Poplars
If theäse day’s work an’ burnèn sky ’V’a-zent hwome you so tired as I, Let’s zit an’ rest ’ithin the screen O’ my wold bow’r upon the green; Where I do goo myself an’ let The evenèn aiër cool my het, When dew do wet the grasses bleädes, A-quiv’rèn in the dusky sheädes. There yonder poplar trees do plaÿ Soft music, as their heads do swaÿ, While wind, a-rustlèn soft or loud, Do stream ageän their lofty sh’oud; An’ seem to heal the ranklèn zore My mind do meet wi’ out o’ door, When I’ve a-bore, in downcast mood, Zome evil where I look’d vor good. O’ they two poplars that do rise So high avore our naïghbours’ eyes, A-zet by gramfer, hand by hand, Wi’ grammer, in their bit o’ land; The woone upon the western zide Wer his, an’ woone wer grammer’s pride, An’ since they died, we all do teäke Mwore ceäre o’m vor the wold vo’k’s seäke. An’ there, wi’ stems a-growèn tall Avore the houses mossy wall, The while the moon ha’ slowly past The leafy window, they’ve a-cast Their sheädes ’ithin the window peäne; While childern have a-grown to men, An’ then ageän ha’ left their beds, To bear their childern’s heavy heads.
William Barnes’s other poems:
