Third Collection. I’m out o’ Door
I’m out, when, in the Winter’s blast, The zun, a-runnèn lowly round, Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground. I’m out when snow’s a-lyèn white In keen-aïr’d vields that I do pass, An’ moonbeams, vrom above, do smite On ice an’ sleeper’s window-glass. I’m out o’ door, When win’ do zweep, By hangèn steep, Or hollow deep, At Lindenore. O welcome is the lewth a-vound By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank, Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown’d By barken-grass, a-springèn rank; Or where the waggon, vrom the team A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet, An’ on the dousty cart-house beam Do hang the cobweb’s white-lin’d net. While storms do roar, An’ win’ do zweep, By hangèn steep, Or hollow deep, At Lindenore. An’ when a good day’s work ’s a-done An’ I do rest, the while a squall Do rumble in the hollow tun, An’ ivy-stems do whip the wall. Then in the house do sound about My ears, dear vaïces vull or thin, A praÿèn vor the souls vur out At sea, an’ cry wi’ bibb’rèn chin— Oh! shut the door. What soul can sleep, Upon the deep, When storms do zweep At Lindenore.
William Barnes’s other poems:
