William Barnes

First Collection. Fall. Jenny out vrom Hwome

O wild-reävèn west winds; as you do roar on,
 The elems do rock an’ the poplars do ply,
An’ weäve do dreve weäve in the dark-water’d pon’,—
 Oh! where do ye rise vrom, an’ where do ye die?

O wild-reävèn winds I do wish I could vlee
 Wi’ you, lik’ a bird o’ the clouds, up above
The ridge o’ the hill an’ the top o’ the tree,
 To where I do long vor, an’ vo’k I do love.

Or else that in under theäse rock I could hear,
 In the soft-zwellèn sounds you do leäve in your road,
Zome words you mid bring me, vrom tongues that be dear,
 Vrom friends that do love me, all scatter’d abrode.

O wild-reävèn winds! if you ever do roar
 By the house an’ the elems vrom where I’m a-come,
Breathe up at the window, or call at the door,
 An’ tell you’ve a-voun’ me a-thinkèn o’ hwome.