William Barnes

Spring: Evenen in the Village

Now the light o’ the west is a-turn’d to gloom,
     An’ the men be at hwome vrom ground;
An’ the bells be a-zenden all down the Coombe
     From tower, their mwoansome sound.
             An’ the wind is still,
         An’ the house-dogs do bark,
An’ the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an’ dark,
     An’ the water do roar at mill.
 
An’ the flickeren light drough the window-peaene
     Vrom the candle’s dull fleaeme do shoot,
An’ young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down leaene,
     A-playen his shrill-vaiced flute.
             An’ the miller’s man
         Do zit down at his ease
On the seat that is under the cluster o’ trees.
     Wi’ his pipe an’ his cider can.
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