William Barnes

First Collection. Summer. The Clote

          (Water-lily.)

O zummer clote! when the brook’s a-glidèn
 So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed,
Upon thy broad leaves so seäfe a-ridèn
 The water’s top wi’ thy yollow head,
  By alder’s heads, O,
  An’ bulrush beds, O.
Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!

The grey-bough’d withy’s a-leänèn lowly
 Above the water thy leaves do hide;
The bendèn bulrush, a-swaÿèn slowly,
 Do skirt in zummer thy river’s zide;
   An’ perch in shoals, O,
   Do vill the holes, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Oh! when thy brook-drinkèn flow’r ’s a-blowèn,
 The burnèn zummer’s a-zettèn in;
The time o’ greenness, the time o’ mowèn,
 When in the haÿ-vield, wi’ zunburnt skin,
   The vo’k do drink, O,
   Upon the brink, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Wi’ eärms a-spreadèn, an’ cheäks a-blowèn,
 How proud wer I when I vu’st could zwim
Athirt the pleäce where thou bist a-growèn,
 Wi’ thy long more vrom the bottom dim;
   While cows, knee-high, O,
   In brook, wer nigh, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Ov all the brooks drough the meäds a-windèn,
 Ov all the meäds by a river’s brim,
There’s nwone so feäir o’ my own heart’s vindèn,
 As where the maïdens do zee thee swim,
   An’ stan’ to teäke, O,
   Wi’ long-stemm’d reäke, O,
Thy flow’r afloat, goolden zummer clote!