Second Collection. The Wife a-lost
Since I noo mwore do zee your feäce, Up steäirs or down below, I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleäce, Where flat-bough’d beech do grow: Below the beeches’ bough, my love. Where you did never come, An’ I don’t look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome. Since you noo mwore be at my zide, In walks in zummer het, I’ll goo alwone where mist do ride, Drough trees a-drippèn wet: Below the raïn-wet bough, my love. Where you did never come, An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now, As I do grieve at home. Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard Your vaïce do never sound, I’ll eat the bit I can avword, A-vield upon the ground; Below the darksome bough, my love, Where you did never dine, An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now, As I at hwome do pine. Since I do miss your vaïce an’ feäce In praÿer at eventide, I’ll praÿ wi’ woone said vaïce vor greäce To goo where you do bide; Above the tree an’ bough, my love, Where you be gone avore, An’ be a-waitèn vor me now, To come vor evermwore.
William Barnes’s other poems:
