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.