Third Collection. Times o’ Year
Here did swaÿ the eltrot flow’rs, When the hours o’ night wer vew, An’ the zun, wi’ early beams Brighten’d streams, an’ dried the dew, An’ the goocoo there did greet Passers by wi’ dousty veet. There the milkmaïd hung her brow By the cow, a-sheenèn red; An’ the dog, wi’ upward looks, Watch’d the rooks above his head, An’ the brook, vrom bow to bow, Here went swift, an’ there wer slow. Now the cwolder-blowèn blast, Here do cast vrom elems’ heads Feäded leaves, a-whirlèn round, Down to ground, in yollow beds, Ruslèn under milkers’ shoes, When the day do dry the dews. Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright, Glisten white instead o’ green, An’ the wind shall smite the cows, Where the boughs be now their screen. Things do change as years do vlee; What ha’ years in store vor me?
William Barnes’s other poems:
