Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

Third Collection. Hawthorn Down

All up the down’s cool brow
 I work’d in noontide’s gleäre,
On where the slow-wheel’d plow
 ’D a-wore the grass half bare.
An’ gil’cups quiver’d quick,
 As aïr did pass,
An’ deäisies huddled thick
 Among the grass.

The while my eärms did swing
 Wi’ work I had on hand,
The quick-wing’d lark did zing
 Above the green-tree’d land,
An’ bwoys below me chafed
 The dog vor fun,
An’ he, vor all they laef’d,
 Did meäke em run.

The south zide o’ the hill,
 My own tun-smoke rose blue,—
In North Coomb, near the mill,
 My mother’s wer in view—
Where woonce her vier vor all
 Ov us did burn,
As I have childern small
 Round mine in turn.

An’ zoo I still wull cheer
 Her life wi’ my small store,
As she do drop a tear
 Bezide her lwonesome door.
The love that I do owe
 Her ruf, I’ll paÿ,
An’ then zit down below
 My own wi’ jaÿ.

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