Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/65

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brook I left below the rank Ov alders that do sheäde his bank, A-runnèn down to dreve the mill Below the knap, ’s a runnèn still; The creepèn days an’ weeks do vill &emsp;Up years, an’ meäke wold things o’ new, &emsp;An’ vok’ do come, an’ live, an’ goo, &emsp;But rivers don’t gi’e out, John.

The leaves that in the spring do shoot Zo green, in fall be under voot; Maÿ flow’rs do grow vor June to burn. An’ milk-white blooth o’ trees do kern, An’ ripen on, an’ vall in turn; &emsp;The miller’s moss-green wheel mid rot, &emsp;An’ he mid die an’ be vorgot, &emsp;But rivers don’t gi’e out, John.

A vew short years do bring an’ rear A maid—as Jeäne wer—young an’ feäir, An’ vewer zummer-ribbons, tied In Zunday knots, do feäde bezide Her cheäk avore her bloom ha’ died: &emsp;Her youth won’t staÿ,—her rwosy look &emsp;’S a feädèn flow’r, but time’s a brook &emsp;To run an’ not gi’e out, John.

An’ yet, while things do come an’ goo, God’s love is steadvast, John, an’ true; If winter vrost do chill the ground, ’Tis but to bring the zummer round. All’s well a-lost where He’s a-vound,