Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/31

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girt woak tree that’s in the dell! There’s noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an’ times when I wer young, I there’ve a-climb’d, an’ there’ve a-zwung, An’ pick’d the eäcorns green, a-shed In wrestlèn storms vrom his broad head. An’ down below’s the cloty brook Where I did vish with line an’ hook. An’ beät, in plaÿsome dips and zwims, The foamy stream, wi’ white-skinn’d lim’s. An’ there my mother nimbly shot Her knittèn-needles, as she zot At evenèn down below the wide Woak’s head, wi’ father at her zide. An’ I’ve a-plaÿed wi’ many a bwoy, That’s now a man an’ gone awoy; &emsp;Zoo I do like noo tree so well &emsp;’S the girt woak tree that’s in the dell.

An’ there, in leäter years, I roved Wi’ thik poor maïd I fondly lov’d,— The maïd too feäir to die so soon,— When evenèn twilight, or the moon, Cast light enough ’ithin the pleäce To show the smiles upon her feäce, Wi’ eyes so clear ’s the glassy pool. An’ lips an’ cheäks so soft as wool. There han’ in han’, wi’ bosoms warm, Wi’ love that burn’d but thought noo harm, Below the wide-bough’d tree we past The happy hours that went too vast; An’ though she’ll never be my wife. She’s still my leäden star o’ life.