Poem by William Barnes

Second Collection. The Wife a-lost

Since I noo mwore do zee your feäce,
 Up steäirs or down below,
I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleäce,
 Where flat-bough’d beech do grow:
Below the beeches’ bough, my love.
 Where you did never come,
An’ I don’t look to meet ye now,
 As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
 In walks in zummer het,
I’ll goo alwone where mist do ride,
 Drough trees a-drippèn wet:
Below the raïn-wet bough, my love.
 Where you did never come,
An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,
 As I do grieve at home.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
 Your vaïce do never sound,
I’ll eat the bit I can avword,
 A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
 Where you did never dine,
An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,
 As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your vaïce an’ feäce
 In praÿer at eventide,
I’ll praÿ wi’ woone said vaïce vor greäce
 To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an’ bough, my love,
 Where you be gone avore,
An’ be a-waitèn vor me now,
 To come vor evermwore.

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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