Third Collection. Hawthorn Down
All up the down’s cool brow I work’d in noontide’s gleäre, On where the slow-wheel’d plow ’D a-wore the grass half bare. An’ gil’cups quiver’d quick, As aïr did pass, An’ deäisies huddled thick Among the grass. The while my eärms did swing Wi’ work I had on hand, The quick-wing’d lark did zing Above the green-tree’d land, An’ bwoys below me chafed The dog vor fun, An’ he, vor all they laef’d, Did meäke em run. The south zide o’ the hill, My own tun-smoke rose blue,— In North Coomb, near the mill, My mother’s wer in view— Where woonce her vier vor all Ov us did burn, As I have childern small Round mine in turn. An’ zoo I still wull cheer Her life wi’ my small store, As she do drop a tear Bezide her lwonesome door. The love that I do owe Her ruf, I’ll paÿ, An’ then zit down below My own wi’ jaÿ.
William Barnes’s other poems:
