Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/360

344 &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Where rollèn round, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Wi’ rumblèn sound, The wheel woonce drown’d the vaïce so dear To me. I faïn would goo to hear The clack, clack, clack, vor woone short hour, Wi’ whirlèn stwone, an’ streamèn flour, Bezide the mill on cloty Stour.

But should I vind a-heavèn now &emsp;Her breast wi’ air o’ thik dear pleäce? Or zee dark locks by such a brow, &emsp;Or het o’ plaÿ on such a feäce? &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;No! She’s now staïd, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;An’ where she plaÿ’d, There’s noo such maïd that now ha’ took The pleäce that she ha’ long vorsook, Though clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi’ whirlèn stwone an’ streamèn flour, Do goo the mill by cloty Stour.

An’ still the pulley rwope do heist &emsp;The wheat vrom red-wheeled waggon beds. An’ ho’ses there wi’ lwoads of grist, &emsp;Do stand an’ toss their heavy heads; &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;But on the vloor, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Or at the door, Do show noo mwore the kindly feäce Her father show’d about the pleäce, As clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi’ whirlèn stwone, an’ streamèn flour, Did goo his mill by cloty Stour.