Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/335

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you do seem to think the ground, Where happiness is best a-vound, Is where the high-peäl’d park do reach Wi’ elem-rows, or clumps o’ beech; Or where the coach do stand avore The twelve-tunn’d house’s lofty door, Or men can ride behin’ their hounds Vor miles athirt their own wide grounds, &emsp;An’ seldom wi’ the lowly; Upon the green that we do tread, Below the welsh-nut’s wide-limb’d head, Or grass where apple trees do spread? No, so’s; no, no: not high nor low: ’Tis where the heart is holy.

’Tis true its veet mid tread the vloor, ’Ithin the marble-pillar’d door, Where day do cast, in high-ruf’d halls, His light drough lofty window’d walls; An’ wax-white han’s do never tire Wi’ strokes ov heavy work vor hire, An’ all that money can avword Do lwoad the zilver-brighten’d bwoard; &emsp;Or mid be wi’ the lowly, Where turfs a-smwolderèn avore The back, to warm the stwonèn vloor, An’ love’s at hwome ’ithin the door? No, so’s; no, no; not high nor low: &emsp;’Tis where the heart is holy.

An’ ceäre can come ’ithin a ring O’ sworded guards, to smite a king,