William Barnes

First Collection. Summer. The Sky a-cleärèn

The drevèn scud that overcast
The zummer sky is all a-past,
An’ softer aïr, a-blowèn drough
The quiv’rèn boughs, do sheäke the vew
Last raïn drops off the leaves lik’ dew;
 An’ peäviers, now a-gettèn dry,
 Do steam below the zunny sky
  That’s now so vast a-cleärèn.

The sheädes that wer a-lost below
The stormy cloud, ageän do show
Their mockèn sheäpes below the light;
An’ house-walls be a-lookèn white,
An’ vo’k do stir woonce mwore in zight,
 An’ busy birds upon the wing
 Do whiver roun’ the boughs an’ zing,
  To zee the sky a-clearèn.

Below the hill’s an ash; below
The ash, white elder-flow’rs do blow:
Below the elder is a bed
O’ robinhoods o’ blushèn red;
An’ there, wi’ nunches all a-spread,
 The haÿ-meäkers, wi’ each a cup
 O’ drink, do smile to zee hold up
  The raïn, an’ sky a-cleärèn.

’Mid blushèn maïdens, wi’ their zong,
Still draw their white-stemm’d reäkes among
The long-back’d weäles an’ new-meäde pooks,
By brown-stemm’d trees an’ cloty brooks;
But have noo call to spweil their looks
 By work, that God could never meäke
 Their weaker han’s to underteäke,
  Though skies mid be a-cleärèn.

’Tis wrong vor women’s han’s to clips
The zull an’ reap-hook, speädes an’ whips;
An’ men abroad, should leäve, by right,
Woone faïthful heart at hwome to light
Their bit o’ vier up at night,
 An’ hang upon the hedge to dry
 Their snow-white linen, when the sky
  In winter is a-cleärèn.