Third Collection. In the Spring
My love is the maïd ov all maïdens, Though all mid be comely, Her skin’s lik’ the jessamy blossom A-spread in the Spring. Her smile is so sweet as a beäby’s Young smile on his mother, Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop A-shed in the Spring. O grey-leafy pinks o’ the geärden, Now bear her sweet blossoms; Now deck wi’ a rwose-bud, O briar, Her head in the Spring. O light-rollèn wind blow me hither, The vaïce ov her talkèn, Or bring vrom her veet the light doust, She do tread in the Spring. O zun, meäke the gil’cups all glitter, In goold all around her; An’ meäke o’ the deäisys’ white flowers A bed in the Spring. O whissle gaÿ birds, up bezide her, In drong-waÿ, an’ woodlands, O zing, swingèn lark, now the clouds, Be a-vled in the Spring. An’ who, you mid ax, be my praïses A-meäkèn so much o’, An’ oh! ’tis the maïd I’m a-hopèn To wed in the Spring.
William Barnes’s other poems:
