Third Collection. The Lew o’ the Rick
At eventide the wind wer loud By trees an’ tuns above woone’s head, An’ all the sky wer woone dark cloud, Vor all it had noo raïn to shed; An’ as the darkness gather’d thick, I zot me down below a rick, Where straws upon the win’ did ride Wi’ giddy flights, along my zide, Though unmolestèn me a-restèn, Where I laÿ ’ithin the lew. My wife’s bright vier indoors did cast Its fleäme upon the window peänes That screen’d her teäble, while the blast Vied on in music down the leänes; An’ as I zot in vaïceless thought Ov other zummer-tides, that brought The sheenèn grass below the lark, Or left their ricks a-wearèn dark, My childern voun’ me, an’ come roun’ me, Where I laÿ ’ithin the lew. The rick that then did keep me lew Would be a-gone another Fall, An’ I, in zome years, in a vew, Mid leäve the childern, big or small; But He that meäde the wind, an’ meäde The lewth, an’ zent wi’ het the sheäde, Can keep my childern, all alwone O’ under me, an’ though vull grown Or little lispers, wi’ their whispers, There a-lyèn in the lew.
William Barnes’s other poems:
