Third Collection. Zummer Thoughts in Winter Time
Well, aye, last evenèn, as I shook My locks ov haÿ by Leecombe brook, The yollow zun did weakly glance Upon the winter meäd askance, A-castèn out my narrow sheäde Athirt the brook, an’ on the meäd. The while ageän my lwonesome ears Did russle weatherbeäten spears, Below the withy’s leafless head That overhung the river’s bed; I there did think o’ days that dried The new-mow’d grass o’ zummer-tide, When white-sleev’d mowers’ whetted bleädes Rung sh’ill along the green-bough’d gleädes, An’ maïdens gaÿ, wi’ plaÿsome chaps, A-zot wi’ dinners in their laps, Did talk wi’ merry words that rung Around the ring, vrom tongue to tongue; An’ welcome, when the leaves ha’ died, Be zummer thoughts in winter-tide.
William Barnes’s other poems:
