Third Collection. Zummer Stream
Ah! then the grassy-meäded Maÿ Did warm the passèn year, an’ gleam Upon the yellow-grounded stream, That still by beech-tree sheädes do straÿ. The light o’ weäves, a-runnèn there, Did plaÿ on leaves up over head, An’ vishes scealy zides did gleäre, A-dartèn on the shallow bed, An’ like the stream a-slidèn on, My zun out-measur’d time’s agone. There by the path, in grass knee-high, War buttervlees in giddy flight, All white above the deäisies white, Or blue below the deep blue sky. Then glowèn warm wer ev’ry brow, O’ maid, or man, in zummer het, An’ warm did glow the cheäks I met That time, noo mwore to meet em now. As brooks, a-slidèn on their bed, My season-measur’d time’s a-vled. Vrom yonder window, in the thatch, Did sound the maïdens’ merry words, As I did stand, by zingèn birds, Bezide the elem-sheäded hatch. ’Tis good to come back to the pleäce, Back to the time, to goo noo mwore; ’Tis good to meet the younger feäce A-mentèn others here avore. As streams do glide by green meäd-grass, My zummer-brighten’d years do pass.
William Barnes’s other poems:
