Poem by 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.

1. Second Collection. The Linden on the Lawn
2. Second Collection. When Birds be Still
3. First Collection. Summer. Week’s End in Zummer, in the Wold Vo’k’s Time
4. Second Collection. The Lydlinch Bells
5. Third Collection. The Wheel Routs

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