Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/330

314 An’ I must own, my heart do beät Wi’ pride avore my own blue geäte, Where I can bid the steätely tree Be cast, at langth, avore my knee; An’ clover red, an’ deäzies feaïr, An’ gil’cups wi’ their yollow gleäre, Be all a-match’d avore my zight By wheelèn buttervlees in flight, The while the burnèn zun at noon Do sheen upon my meäd in June.

An’ there do zing the swingèn lark So gaÿ’s above the finest park, An’ day do sheäde my trees as true As any steätely avenue; An’ show’ry clouds o’ Spring do pass To shed their raïn on my young grass, An’ aïr do blow the whole day long, To bring me breath, an’ teäke my zong, An’ I do miss noo needvul boon A-gi’ed to other meäds in June.

An’ when the bloomèn rwose do ride Upon the boughy hedge’s zide, We haymeäkers, in snow-white sleeves, Do work in sheädes o’ quiv’rèn leaves, In afternoon, a-liftèn high Our reäkes avore the viery sky, A-reäken up the haÿ a-dried By day, in lwongsome weäles, to bide In chilly dew below the moon, O’ shorten’d nights in zultry June.

An’ there the brook do softly flow Along, a-bendèn in a bow,