No! Jenny, there’s noo pleäce to charm
My mind lik’ yours at Woakland farm,
A-peärted vrom the busy town,
By longsome miles ov aïry down,
Where woonce the meshy wall did gird
Your flow’ry geärden, an’ the bird
Did zing in zummer wind that stirr’d
The spreädèn linden on the lawn.
An’ now ov all the trees wi’ sheädes
A-wheelèn round in Blackmwore gleädes,
There’s noo tall poplar by the brook,
Nor elem that do rock the rook,
Nor ash upon the shelvèn ledge,
Nor low-bough’d woak bezide the hedge,
Nor withy up above the zedge,
So dear’s thik linden on the lawn.
Vor there, o’ zummer nights, below
The wall, we zot when aïr did blow,
An’ sheäke the dewy rwose a-tied
Up roun’ the window’s stwonèn zide.
An’ while the carter rod’ along
A-zingèn, down the dusky drong,
There you did zing a sweeter zong
Below the linden on the lawn.
An’ while your warbled ditty wound
Drough plaÿsome flights o’ mellow sound,
The nightèngeäle’s sh’ill zong, that broke
The stillness ov the dewy woak,
Rung clear along the grove, an’ smote
To sudden stillness ev’ry droat;
As we did zit, an’ hear it float
Below the linden on the lawn.
Where dusky light did softly vall
‘Ithin the stwonèn-window’d hall,
Avore your father’s blinkèn eyes,
His evenèn whiff o’ smoke did rise,
An’ vrom the bedroom window’s height
Your little John, a-cloth’d in white,
An’ gwaïn to bed, did cry “good night”
Towards the linden on the lawn.
But now, as Dobbin, wi’ a nod
Vor ev’ry heavy step he trod,
Did bring me on, to-night, avore
The geäbled house’s pworchèd door,
Noo laughèn child a-cloth’d in white,
Look’d drough the stwonèn window’s light,
An’ noo vaïce zung, in dusky night,
Below the linden on the lawn.
An’ zoo, if you should ever vind
My kindness seem to grow less kind,
An’ if upon my clouded feäce
My smile should yield a frown its pleäce,
Then, Jenny, only laugh an’ call
My mind ‘ithin the geärden wall,
Where we did plaÿ at even-fall,
Below the linden on the lawn.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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