Poem by William Barnes

First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Hwomestead

If I had all the land my zight
 Can overlook vrom Chalwell hill,
Vrom Sherborn left to Blanvord right,
 Why I could be but happy still.
An’ I be happy wi’ my spot
O’ freehold ground an’ mossy cot,
An’ shoulden get a better lot
 If I had all my will.

My orcha’d’s wide, my trees be young;
 An’ they do bear such heavy crops,
Their boughs, lik’ onion-rwopes a-hung,
 Be all a-trigg’d to year, wi’ props.
I got some geärden groun’ to dig,
A parrock, an’ a cow an’ pig;
I got zome cider vor to swig,
 An’ eäle o’ malt an’ hops.

I’m landlord o’ my little farm,
 I’m king ’ithin my little pleäce;
I don’t break laws, an’ don’t do harm,
 An’ bent afeär’d o’ noo man’s feäce.
When I’m a-cover’d wi’ my thatch,
Noo man do deäre to lift my latch;
Where honest han’s do shut the hatch,
 There fear do leäve the pleäce.

My lofty elem trees do screen
 My brown-ruf’d house, an’ here below,
My geese do strut athirt the green,
 An’ hiss an’ flap their wings o’ snow;
As I do walk along a rank
Ov apple trees, or by a bank,
Or zit upon a bar or plank,
 To see how things do grow.

1. First Collection. Summer. Week’s End in Zummer, in the Wold Vo’k’s Time
2. Second Collection. The Linden on the Lawn
3. Second Collection. When Birds be Still
4. Third Collection. Went vrom Hwome
5. Third Collection. Shaftesbury Feäir

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