Poem by William Barnes

Third Collection. The Wheel Routs

’Tis true I brought noo fortune hwome
 Wi’ Jenny, vor her honey-moon,
But still a goodish hansel come
 Behind her perty soon,
Vor stick, an’ dish, an’ spoon, all vell
To Jeäne, vrom Aunt o’ Camwy dell.

Zoo all the lot o’ stuff a-tied
 Upon the plow, a tidy tod,
On gravel-crunchèn wheels did ride,
 Wi’ ho’ses, iron-shod,
That, as their heads did nod, my whip
Did guide along wi’ lightsome flip.

An’ there it rod ’ithin the rwope,
 Astraïn’d athirt, an’ straïn’d along,
Down Thornhay’s evenèn-lighted slope
 An’ up the beech-tree drong;
Where wheels a-bound so strong, cut out
On either zide a deep-zunk rout.

An’ when at Fall the trees wer brown,
 Above the bennet-bearèn land,
When beech-leaves slowly whiver’d down,
 By evenèn winds a-fann’d;
The routs wer each a band o’ red,
A-vill’d by drifted beech-leaves dead.

An’ when, in Winter’s leafless light,
 The keener eastern wind did blow,
An’ scatter down, avore my zight,
 A chilly cwoat o’ snow;
The routs ageän did show vull bright,
In two long streaks o’ glitt’rèn white.

But when, upon our weddèn night,
 The cart’s light wheels, a-rollèn round,
Brought Jenny hwome, they run too light
 To mark the yieldèn ground;
Or welcome would be vound a peäir
O’ green-vill’d routs a-runnèn there.

Zoo let me never bring ’ithin
 My dwellèn what’s a-won by wrong,
An’ can’t come in ’ithout a sin;
 Vor only zee how long
The waggon marks in drong, did show
Wi’ leaves, wi’ grass, wi’ groun’ wi’ snow.

1. Third Collection. Tweil
2. Second Collection. The Slantèn light o’ Fall
3. Second Collection. Light or Sheäde
4. Third Collection. Comen Hwome
5. Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone

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