Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Spring. The Milk-Maïd o’ the Farm

O Poll’s the milk-maïd o’ the farm!
 An’ Poll’s so happy out in groun’,
Wi’ her white pail below her eärm
 As if she wore a goolden crown.

An’ Poll don’t zit up half the night,
 Nor lie vor half the day a-bed;
An’ zoo her eyes be sparklèn bright.
 An’ zoo her cheäks be bloomèn red.

In zummer mornèns, when the lark
 Do rouse the litty lad an’ lass
To work, then she’s the vu’st to mark
 Her steps along the dewy grass.

An’ in the evenèn, when the zun
 Do sheen ageän the western brows
O’ hills, where bubblèn brooks do run,
 There she do zing bezide her cows.

An’ ev’ry cow of hers do stand,
 An’ never overzet her païl;
Nor try to kick her nimble hand,
 Nor switch her wi’ her heavy taïl.

Noo leädy, wi’ her muff an’ vaïl,
 Do walk wi’ sich a steätely tread
As she do, wi’ her milkèn païl
 A-balanc’d on her comely head.

An’ she, at mornèn an’ at night.
 Do skim the yollow cream, an’ mwold
An’ wring her cheeses red an’ white,
 An’ zee the butter vetch’d an’ roll’d.

An’ in the barken or the ground,
 The chaps do always do their best
To milk the vu’st their own cows round,
 An’ then help her to milk the rest.

Zoo Poll’s the milk-maid o’ the farm!
 An’ Poll’s so happy out in groun’,
Wi’ her white païl below her eärm,
 As if she wore a goolden crown.

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