Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
William Barnes (18011886)The Widows House
I
When the vields wer all empty o’ vo’k,
An’ the tuns at their cool-winded height
Wer all dark, an’ all cwold ’ithout smoke;
An’ the heads o’ the trees that I pass’d
Wer a-swaÿèn wi’ low ruslèn sound,
An’ the doust wer a-whirl’d wi’ the blast,
Aye, a smeech wi’ the wind on the ground.
Down below the wold elem’s tall head,
But noo vingers did lift up the latch,
Vor they all wer so still as the dead;
But inside, to a tree a-meäde vast,
Wer the childern’s light swing, a-hung low,
An’ a-rock’d by the brisk blowèn blast,
Aye, a-swung by the win’ to an fro.
Had vorgotten their swing on the lawn,
An’ their father, asleep wi’ the dead,
Had vorgotten his work at the dawn;
An’ their mother, a vew stilly hours,
Had vorgotten where he slept so sound,
Where the wind wer a-sheäkèn the flow’rs,
Aye, the blast the feäir buds on the ground.