Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Spring. Dock-Leaves

The dock-leaves that do spread so wide
Up yonder zunny bank’s green zide,
Do bring to mind what we did do
At plaÿ wi’ dock-leaves years agoo:
How we,—when nettles had a-stung
Our little hands, when we wer young,—
Did rub em wi’ a dock, an’ zing
“Out nettl’, in dock. In dock, out sting.”
An’ when your feäce, in zummer’s het,
Did sheen wi’ tricklèn draps o’ zweat,
How you, a-zot bezide the bank,
Didst toss your little head, an pank,
An’ teäke a dock-leaf in your han’,
An’ whisk en lik’ a leädy’s fan;
While I did hunt, ’ithin your zight,
Vor streaky cockle-shells to fight.

In all our plaÿ-geämes we did bruise
The dock-leaves wi’ our nimble shoes;
Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling
You maïdens in the orcha’d swing,
An’ by the zaw-pit’s dousty bank,
Where we did taït upon a plank.
—(D’ye mind how woonce, you cou’den zit
The bwoard, an’ veil off into pit?)
An’ when we hunted you about
The grassy barken, in an’ out
Among the ricks, your vlèe-èn frocks
An’ nimble veet did strik’ the docks.
An’ zoo they docks, a-spread so wide
Up yonder zunny bank’s green zide,
Do bring to mind what we did do.
Among the dock-leaves years agoo.

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