Third Collection. Good Night
While down the meäds wound slow, Water vor green-wheel’d mills, Over the streams bright bow, Win’ come vrom dark-back’d hills. Birds on the win’ shot along down steep Slopes, wi’ a swift-swung zweep. Dim weän’d the red streak’d west. Lim’-weary souls “Good-rest.” Up on the plough’d hill brow, Still wer the zull’s wheel’d beam, Still wer the red-wheel’d plough, Free o’ the strong limb’d team. Still wer the shop that the smith meäde ring, Dark where the sparks did spring; Low shot the zun’s last beams. Lim’-weary souls “Good dreams,” Where I vrom dark bank-sheädes Turn’d up the west hill road, Where all the green grass bleädes Under the zunlight glow’d. Startled I met, as the zunbeams plaÿ’d Light, wi’ a zunsmote maïd, Come vor my day’s last zight. Zun-brighten’d maïd “Good night.”
William Barnes’s other poems:
