Third Collection. The Rwose in the Dark
In zummer, leäte at evenèn tide, I zot to spend a moonless hour ’Ithin the window, wi’ the zide A-bound wi’ rwoses out in flow’r, Bezide the bow’r, vorsook o’ birds, An’ listen’d to my true-love’s words. A-risèn to her comely height, She push’d the swingèn ceäsement round; And I could hear, beyond my zight, The win’-blow’d beech-tree softly sound, On higher ground, a-swaÿèn slow, On drough my happy hour below. An’ tho’ the darkness then did hide The dewy rwose’s blushèn bloom, He still did cast sweet air inside To Jeäne, a-chattèn in the room; An’ though the gloom did hide her feäce, Her words did bind me to the pleäce. An’ there, while she, wi’ runnèn tongue, Did talk unzeen ’ithin the hall, I thought her like the rwose that flung His sweetness vrom his darken’d ball, ’Ithout the wall, an’ sweet’s the zight Ov her bright feäce by mornèn light.
William Barnes’s other poems:
