Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
William Barnes (18011886)Woak Hill
W
Green-ruddy in hedges,
Bezide the red doust o’ the ridges,
A-dried at Woak Hill;
Wi’ long years o’ handlèn,
On dousty red wheels ov a waggon,
To ride at Woak Hill.
I then wer a-leävèn,
Had shelter’d the sleek head o’ Meäry,
My bride at Woak Hill.
’S a-lost vrom the vloorèn.
To soon vor my jaÿ an’ my children
She died at Woak Hill.
She do hover about us;
To ho vor her motherless children,
Her pride at Woak Hill.
I stole off ’ithout her,
An’ left her, uncall’d at house-riddèn,
To bide at Woak Hill—
All soundless to others,
An’ took her wi’ aïr-reachèn hand
To my zide at Woak Hill.
To light at my shoulder,
An’ then led her in at the doorway,
Miles wide vrom Woak Hill.
My mind wer a-wandrèn
Wi’ sorrow, when I wer so sorely
A-tried at Woak Hill.
Behold herzelf slighted,
I wanted to think that I guided
My guide vrom Woak Hill.