Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

Third Collection. I’m out o’ Door

I’m out, when, in the Winter’s blast,
 The zun, a-runnèn lowly round,
Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast
 At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground.
I’m out when snow’s a-lyèn white
 In keen-aïr’d vields that I do pass,
An’ moonbeams, vrom above, do smite
 On ice an’ sleeper’s window-glass.
    I’m out o’ door,
    When win’ do zweep,
    By hangèn steep,
    Or hollow deep,
        At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound
 By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank,
Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown’d
 By barken-grass, a-springèn rank;
Or where the waggon, vrom the team
 A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet,
An’ on the dousty cart-house beam
 Do hang the cobweb’s white-lin’d net.
    While storms do roar,
    An’ win’ do zweep,
    By hangèn steep,
    Or hollow deep,
        At Lindenore.

An’ when a good day’s work ’s a-done
 An’ I do rest, the while a squall
Do rumble in the hollow tun,
 An’ ivy-stems do whip the wall.
Then in the house do sound about
 My ears, dear vaïces vull or thin,
A praÿèn vor the souls vur out
 At sea, an’ cry wi’ bibb’rèn chin—
    Oh! shut the door.
    What soul can sleep,
    Upon the deep,
    When storms do zweep
        At Lindenore.

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