Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/274

258 An’ you did nessle warm enough, &emsp;’Ithin your smilèn mother’s eärms. The whindlèn grass did quiver light, Among the stubble, feäded white, An’ if at times the zunlight broke Upon the ground, or on the vo’k, &emsp;’Twer slantèn light o’ Fall.

An’ when we brought ye drough the door &emsp;O’ Knapton Church, a child o’ greäce, There cluster’d round a’most a score &emsp;O’ vo’k to zee your tiny feäce. An’ there we all did veel so proud, To zee an’ op’nèn in the cloud, An’ then a stream o’ light break drough, A-sheenèn brightly down on you— &emsp;The slantèn light o’ Fall.

But now your time’s a-come to stand &emsp;In church, a-blushèn at my zide, The while a bridegroom vrom my hand &emsp;Ha’ took ye vor his faïthvul bride. Your christèn neäme we gi’d ye here, When Fall did cool the weästèn year; An’ now, ageän, we brought ye drough The doorway, wi’ your surneäme new, &emsp;In slantèn light o’ Fall.

An’ zoo vur, Jeäne, your life is feäir, &emsp;An’ God ha’ been your steadvast friend, An’ mid ye have mwore jaÿ than ceäre, &emsp;Vor ever, till your journey’s end. An’ I’ve a-watch’d ye on wi’ pride, But now I soon mus’ leave your zide, Vor you ha’ still life’s spring-tide zun, But my life, Jeäne, is now a-run &emsp;To slantèn light o’ Fall.