Third Collection. Zunday
In zummer, when the sheädes do creep Below the Zunday steeple, round The mossy stwones, that love cut deep Wi’ neämes that tongues noo mwore do sound, The leäne do lose the stalkèn team, An’ dry-rimm’d waggon-wheels be still, An’ hills do roll their down-shot stream Below the restèn wheel at mill. O holy day, when tweil do ceäse, Sweet day o’ rest an’ greäce an’ peäce! The eegrass, vor a while unwrung By hoof or shoe, ’s a sheenèn bright, An’ clover flowers be a-sprung On new-mow’d knaps in beds o’ white, An’ sweet wild rwoses, up among The hedge-row boughs, do yield their smells, To aïer that do bear along The loud-rung peals o’ Zunday bells, Upon the day o’ days the best, The day o’ greäce an’ peace an’ rest. By brightshod veet, in peäir an’ peäir, Wi’ comely steps the road’s a-took To church, an’ work-free han’s do beär Woone’s walkèn stick or sister’s book; An’ there the bloomèn niece do come To zee her aunt, in all her best; Or married daughter do bring hwome Her vu’st sweet child upon her breast, As she do seek the holy pleäce, The day o’ rest an’ peäce an’ greäce.
William Barnes’s other poems:
