Third Collection. Leaves a-vallèn
There the ash-tree leaves do vall In the wind a-blowèn cwolder, An’ my childern, tall or small, Since last Fall be woone year wolder. Woone year wolder, woone year dearer, Till when they do leave my he’th, I shall be noo mwore a hearer O’ their vaïces or their me’th. There dead ash leaves be a-toss’d In the wind, a-blowèn stronger, An’ our life-time, since we lost Souls we lov’d, is woone year longer. Woone year longer, woone year wider, Vrom the friends that death ha’ took, As the hours do teäke the rider Vrom the hand that last he shook. No. If he do ride at night Vrom the zide the zun went under, Woone hour vrom his western light Needen meäke woone hour asunder; Woone hour onward, woone hour nigher To the hopeful eastern skies, Where his mornèn rim o’ vier Soon ageän shall meet his eyes. Leaves be now a-scatter’d round In the wind, a-blowèn bleaker, An’ if we do walk the ground Wi’ our life-strangth woone year weaker. Woone year weaker, woone year nigher To the pleäce where we shall vind Woone that’s deathless vor the dier, Voremost they that dropp’d behind.
William Barnes’s other poems:
