Wife A-Lost, The

Poem By William Barnes

Since I noo mwore do zee your fe{"a}ce,
Up ste{"a}rs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple{"a}ce,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippèn wet;
Below the ra{"i}n-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your va{"i}ce do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your va{"i}ce an' fe{"a}ce
In pra{"y}er at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad va{"i}ce vor gre{"a}ce
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-w{"a}itèn vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.

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Other poems of BARNES

Easter Zunday

Last Easter Jim put on his blue
Frock cwoat, the vu'st time-vier new;
Wi' yollow buttons all o' brass,
That glitter'd in the zun lik' glass;

The Wife A-Lost

Up ste{'a}rs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple{'a}ce,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,

The White Road Up Athirt The Hill

WHEN high hot zuns da strik right down,
An' burn our zweaty fiazen brown,
An' zunny hangens that be nigh
Be back'd by hills so blue's the sky;

Zummer An' Winter

When I led by zummer streams
The pride o' Lea, as naighbours thought her,
While the zun, wi' evenen beams,
Did cast our sheades athirt the water;

The Surprise

As there I left the road in May,
And took my way along a ground,
I found a glade with girls at play,
By leafy boughs close-hemmed around,

The Turnstile

Ah! sad wer we as we did peace
the wold church road, wi' downcast feace,
the while the bells, that mwoaned so deep
above our child a-left asleep,