Читать книгу Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect - Barnes William - Страница 32

In happy times a while agoo,

My lively hope, that's now a-gone

Did stir my heart the whole year drough,

But mwost when green-bough'd spring come on;

When I did rove, wi' litty veet,

Drough deäisy-beds so white's a sheet,

But still avore I us'd to meet

The blushèn cheäks that bloom'd vor me!

An' afterward, in lightsome youth,

When zummer wer a-comèn on,

An' all the trees wer white wi' blooth,

An' dippèn zwallows skimm'd the pon';

Sweet hope did vill my heart wi' jaÿ,

An' tell me, though thik spring wer gaÿ,

There still would come a brighter Maÿ,

Wi' blushèn cheäks to bloom vor me!

An' when, at last, the time come roun',

An' brought a lofty zun to sheen

Upon my smilèn Fanny, down

Drough nēsh young leaves o' yollow green;

How charmèn wer the het that glow'd,

How charmèn wer the sheäde a-drow'd,

How charmèn wer the win' that blow'd

Upon her cheäks that bloom'd vor me!

But hardly did they times begin,

Avore I vound em short to staÿ:

An' year by year do now come in,

To peärt me wider vrom my jaÿ,

Vor what's to meet, or what's to peärt,

Wi' maïdens kind, or maïdens smart,

When hope's noo longer in the heart,

An' cheäks noo mwore do bloom vor me!

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But there's a worold still to bless

The good, where zickness never rose;

An' there's a year that's winterless,

Where glassy waters never vroze;

An' there, if true but e'thly love

Do seem noo sin to God above,

'S a smilèn still my harmless dove,

So feäir as when she bloom'd vor me!