Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

Third Collection. The Rwose in the Dark

In zummer, leäte at evenèn tide,
 I zot to spend a moonless hour
’Ithin the window, wi’ the zide
 A-bound wi’ rwoses out in flow’r,
Bezide the bow’r, vorsook o’ birds,
An’ listen’d to my true-love’s words.

A-risèn to her comely height,
 She push’d the swingèn ceäsement round;
And I could hear, beyond my zight,
 The win’-blow’d beech-tree softly sound,
On higher ground, a-swaÿèn slow,
On drough my happy hour below.

An’ tho’ the darkness then did hide
 The dewy rwose’s blushèn bloom,
He still did cast sweet air inside
 To Jeäne, a-chattèn in the room;
An’ though the gloom did hide her feäce,
Her words did bind me to the pleäce.

An’ there, while she, wi’ runnèn tongue,
 Did talk unzeen ’ithin the hall,
I thought her like the rwose that flung
 His sweetness vrom his darken’d ball,
’Ithout the wall, an’ sweet’s the zight
Ov her bright feäce by mornèn light.

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