Poem by William Barnes

First Collection. Winter. The Vrost

Come, run up hwome wi’ us to night,
Athirt the vield a-vroze so white,
Where vrosty sheädes do lie below
The winter ricks a-tipp’d wi’ snow,
An’ lively birds, wi’ waggèn taïls,
Do hop upon the icy raïls.
An’ rime do whiten all the tops
O’ bush an’ tree in hedge an’ copse,
 In wind’s a-cuttèn keen.

Come, maïdens, come: the groun’s a-vroze
Too hard to-night to spweil your clothes.
You got noo pools to waddle drough,
Nor clay a-pullèn off your shoe:
An’ we can trig ye at the zide,
To keep ye up if you do slide:
Zoo while there’s neither wet nor mud,
’S the time to run an’ warm your blood,
 In winds a-cuttèn keen.

Vor young men’s hearts an’ maïden’s eyes
Don’t vreeze below the cwoldest skies,
While they in twice so keen a blast
Can wag their brisk lim’s twice so vast!
Though vier-light, a-flick’rèn red
Drough vrosty window-peänes, do spread
Vrom wall to wall, vrom he’th to door,
Vor us to goo an’ zit avore,
 Vrom winds a-cuttèn keen.

1. First Collection. Sundry Pieces. Aunt’s Tantrums
2. Third Collection. Comen Hwome
3. Third Collection. Treat well you Wife
4. Third Collection. The Little Worold
5. Third Collection. The Neäme Letters

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