The Bwoat
Where cows did slowly seek the brink
O’ _Stour_, drough zunburnt grass, to drink;
Wi’ vishen float, that there did zink
An’ rise, I zot as in a dream.
The dazzlen zun did cast his light
On hedge-row blossom, snowy white,
Though nothen yet did come in zight,
A-stirren on the strayen stream;
Till, out by sheaedy rocks there show’d,
A bwoat along his foamy road,
Wi’ thik feaeir maid at mill, a-row’d
Wi’ Jeaene behind her brother’s oars.
An’ steaetely as a queen o’ vo’k,
She zot wi’ floaten scarlet cloak,
An’ comen on, at ev’ry stroke,
Between my withy-sheaeded shores.
The broken stream did idly try
To show her sheaepe a-riden by,
The rushes brown-bloom’d stems did ply,
As if they bow’d to her by will.
The rings o’ water, wi’ a sock,
Did break upon the mossy rock,
An’ gi’e my beaeten heart a shock,
Above my float’s up-leapen quill.
Then, lik’ a cloud below the skies,
A-drifted off, wi’ less’nen size,
An’ lost, she floated vrom my eyes,
Where down below the stream did wind;
An’ left the quiet weaeves woonce mwore
To zink to rest, a sky-blue’d vloor,
Wi’ all so still’s the clote they bore,
Aye, all but my own ruffled mind.
Autres oeuvres par William Barnes...
