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First Collection. Summer. Be’mi’ster Sweet Be’mi’ster, that bist a-bound By green an’ woody hills all round, Wi’ hedges, reachèn up between A thousan’ vields o’ zummer green, Where elems’ lofty heads do drow Their sheädes vor haÿ-meakers below, An’ wild hedge-flow’rs do charm the souls O’ maïdens in their evenèn strolls. When I o’ Zunday nights wi’ Jeäne Do saunter drough a vield or leäne, Where elder-blossoms be a-spread Above the eltrot’s milk-white head, An’ flow’rs o’ blackberries do blow Upon the brembles, white as snow, To be outdone avore my zight By Jeän’s gaÿ frock o’ dazzlèn white; Oh! then there’s nothèn that’s ’ithout Thy hills that I do ho about,— Noo bigger pleäce, noo gaÿer town, Beyond thy sweet bells’ dyèn soun’. As they do ring, or strike the hour, At evenèn vrom thy wold red tow’r. No: shelter still my head, an’ keep My bwones when I do vall asleep. William Barnes's other poems:
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