Poem by William Barnes

First Collection. Sundry Pieces. Hope a-left Behind

Don’t try to win a maïden’s heart,
 To leäve her in her love,—’tis wrong:
’Tis bitter to her soul to peärt
 Wi’ woone that is her sweetheart long.
 A maïd’s vu’st love is always strong;
An’ if do faïl, she’ll linger on,
Wi’ all her best o’ pleasure gone,
  An’ hope a-left behind her.

Thy poor lost Jenny wer a-grow’d
 So kind an’ thoughtvul vor her years,
When she did meet wi’ vo’k a-know’d
 The best, her love did speak in tears.
 She walk’d wi’ thee, an’ had noo fears
O’ thy unkindness, till she zeed
Herzelf a-cast off lik’ a weed,
  An’ hope a-left behind her.

Thy slight turn’d peäle her cherry lip;
 Her sorrow, not a-zeed by eyes,
Wer lik’ the mildew, that do nip
 A bud by darksome midnight skies
 The day mid come, the zun mid rise,
But there’s noo hope o’ day nor zun;
The storm ha’ blow’d, the harm’s a-done,
  An’ hope’s a-left behind her.

The time will come when thou wouldst gi’e
 The worold vor to have her smile,
Or meet her by the parrock tree,
Or catch her jumpèn off the stile;
 Thy life’s avore thee vor a while,
 But thou wilt turn thy mind in time,
An’ zee the deèd as ’tis,—a crime,
  An’ hope a-left behind thee.

Zoo never win a maïden’s heart,
 But her’s that is to be thy bride,
An’ plaÿ drough life a manly peärt,
 An’ if she’s true when time ha’ tried
 Her mind, then teäke her by thy zide.
True love will meäke thy hardships light,
True love will meäke the worold bright,
  When hope’s a-left behind thee.

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

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