Third Collection. The Wind in the Woone’s Feäce
There lovely Jenny past, While the blast did blow On over Ashknowle Hill To the mill below; A-blinkèn quick, wi’ lashes long, Above her cheäks o’ red, Ageän the wind, a-beätèn strong, Upon her droopèn head. Oh! let dry win’ blow bleäk, On her cheäk so heäle, But let noo raïn-shot chill Meäke her ill an’ peäle; Vor healthy is the breath the blast Upon the hill do yield, An’ healthy is the light a cast Vrom lofty sky to vield. An’ mid noo sorrow-pang Ever hang a tear Upon the dark lash-heäir Ov my feäirest dear; An’ mid noo unkind deed o’ mine Spweil what my love mid gaïn, Nor meäke my merry Jenny pine At last wi’ dim-ey’d païn.
William Barnes’s other poems:
