Poem by William Barnes

Third Collection. Fall

Now the yollow zun, a-runnèn
 Daily round a smaller bow,
Still wi’ cloudless sky’s a-zunnèn
 All the sheenèn land below.
 Vewer blossoms now do blow,
But the fruit’s a-showèn
 Reds an’ blues, an’ purple hues,
By the leaves a-glowèn.

Now the childern be a-pryèn
 Roun’ the berried bremble-bow,
Zome a-laughèn, woone a-cryèn
 Vor the slent her frock do show.
 Bwoys be out a-pullèn low
Slooe-boughs, or a-runnèn
 Where, on zides of hazzle-wrides,
Nuts do hang a-zunnèn.

Where do reach roun’ wheat-ricks yollow
 Oves o’ thatch, in long-drawn ring,
There, by stubbly hump an’ hollow,
 Russet-dappled dogs do spring.
 Soon my apple-trees wull fling
Bloomèn balls below em,
 That shall hide, on ev’ry zide
Ground where we do drow em.

1. Third Collection. Tweil
2. Second Collection. The Slantèn light o’ Fall
3. First Collection. Sundry Pieces. Aunt’s Tantrums
4. Second Collection. Day’s Work a-done
5. Third Collection. Comen Hwome

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