Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/397

Rh &emsp;&emsp;Thik cloudless night o’ June, Wi’ tears upon her lashes big As raïn-drops on a slender twig, &emsp;&emsp;A-glisnèn to the moon.

Zoo don’t zit thoughtless at your cup An’ keep your wife a-wäitèna-waïtèn [sic] up, The while the clock’s a-tickèn slow The chilly hours o’ vrost an’ snow, Until the zinkèn candle’s light Is out avore her drowsy sight, &emsp;&emsp;A-dimm’d wi’ grief too soon; A-leävèn there alwone to murn The feädèn cheäk that woonce did burn, &emsp;&emsp;A-bloomèn to the moon.

they had woone child bezide, &emsp;An’ a finer your eyes never met, ’Twer a dear little fellow that died &emsp;In the zummer that come wi’ such het; By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun, &emsp;He war then a-zent off vrom our eyes, Vrom the light ov the dew-dryèn zun,— &emsp;Aye! vrom days under blue-hollow’d skies.

He went out to the mowers in meäd, &emsp;When the zun wer a-rose to his height, An’ the men wer a-swingèn the sneäd, &emsp;Wi’ their eärms in white sleeves, left an’ right; An’ out there, as they rested at noon, &emsp;O! they drench’d en vrom eäle-horns too deep, Till his thoughts wer a-drown’d in a swoon; &emsp;Aye! his life wer a-smother’d in sleep.