Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

Third Collection. The Lew o’ the Rick

At eventide the wind wer loud
 By trees an’ tuns above woone’s head,
An’ all the sky wer woone dark cloud,
 Vor all it had noo raïn to shed;
An’ as the darkness gather’d thick,
I zot me down below a rick,
Where straws upon the win’ did ride
Wi’ giddy flights, along my zide,
Though unmolestèn me a-restèn,
  Where I laÿ ’ithin the lew.

My wife’s bright vier indoors did cast
 Its fleäme upon the window peänes
That screen’d her teäble, while the blast
 Vied on in music down the leänes;
An’ as I zot in vaïceless thought
Ov other zummer-tides, that brought
The sheenèn grass below the lark,
Or left their ricks a-wearèn dark,
My childern voun’ me, an’ come roun’ me,
  Where I laÿ ’ithin the lew.

The rick that then did keep me lew
 Would be a-gone another Fall,
An’ I, in zome years, in a vew,
 Mid leäve the childern, big or small;
But He that meäde the wind, an’ meäde
The lewth, an’ zent wi’ het the sheäde,
Can keep my childern, all alwone
O’ under me, an’ though vull grown
Or little lispers, wi’ their whispers,
  There a-lyèn in the lew.

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