William Barnes > Quotes

“Tokens


Green mwold on zummer bars do show

That they’ve a-dripp’d in winter wet;

The hoof-worn ring o’ groun’ below

The tree, do tell o’ storms or het;

The trees in rank along a ledge

Do show where woonce did bloom a hedge;

An’ where the vurrow-marks do stripe

The down, the wheat woonce rustled ripe.

Each mark ov things a-gone vrom view—

To eyezight’s woone, to soulzight two.


The grass ageän the mwoldrèn door

’S a tóken sad o’ vo’k a-gone,

An’ where the house, bwoth wall an’ vloor,

’S a-lost, the well mid linger on.

What tokens, then, could Meäry gi’e

That she’d a-liv’d, an’ liv’d vor me,

But things a-done vor thought an’ view?

Good things that nwone ageän can do,

An’ every work her love ha’ wrought

To eyezight’s woone, but two to thought.”
― William Barnes

“I went to door; an’ out vrom trees above
My head, upon the blast by me,
Sweet blossoms wer a-cast by me,
As if my Love, a-past by me,
Did fling em down—a token ov her love.”
― William Barnes

“The Clote (Water-Lily)


O zummer clote! when the brook’s a-glidèn

So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy bed,

Upon thy broad leaves so seäfe a-ridèn

The water’s top wi’ thy yollow head,

By alder sheädes, O,

An’ bulrush beds, O,

Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!


The grey-bough’d withy’s a leänèn lowly

Above the water thy leaves do hide;

The bènden bulrush, a-swaÿèn slowly,

Do skirt in zummer thy river’s zide;

An’ perch in shoals, O,

Do vill the holes, O,

Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!


Oh! when thy brook-drinkèn flow’r’s a-blowèn,

The burnèn zummer’s a-zettèn in;

The time o’ greenness, the time o’ mowèn,

When in the häy-vield, wi’ zunburnt skin,

The vo’k do drink, O,

Upon the brink, O,

Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!


Wi’ eärms a-spreadèn, an’ cheäks a-blowèn,

How proud wer I when I vu’st could swim

Athirt the deep pleäce where thou bist growèn,

Wi’ thy long more vrom the bottom dim;

While cows, knee-high, O,

In brook, wer nigh, O,

Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!


Ov all the brooks drough the meäds a-windèn,

Ov all the meäds by a river’s brim,

There’s nwone so feäir o’ my own heart’s vindèn

As where the maïdens do zee thee zwim,

An’ stan’ to teäke, O,

Wi’ long-stemm’d reäke, O,

Thy flow’r afloat, goolden zummer clote!”
― William Barnes

“Zun-zet


Where the western zun, unclouded,

Up above the grey hill-tops,

Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh’ouded,

On the turf beside the copse,

In zummer weather,

We together,

Sorrow-slightèn, work-vorgettèn,

Gambol’d wi’ the zun a-zettèn.


There, by flow’ry bows o’ bramble,

Under hedge, in ash-tree sheädes,

The dun-heäir’d ho’se did slowly ramble

On the grasses’ dewy bleädes,

Zet free o’ lwoads,

An’ stwony rwoads,

Vorgetvul o’ the lashes frettèn,

Grazèn wi’ the zun a-zettèn.


There wer rooks a-beätèn by us

Drough the aïr, in a vlock,

An’ there the lively blackbird, nigh us,

On the meäple bough did rock,

Wi’ ringèn droat,

Where zunlight smote

The yollow boughs o’ zunny hedges

Over western hills’ blue edges.


Waters, drough the meäds a-purlèn,

Glissen’d in the evenèn’s light,

An’ smoke, above the town a-curlèn,

Melted slowly out o’ zight;

An’ there, in glooms

Ov unzunn’d rooms,

To zome, wi’ idle sorrows frettèn,

Zuns did set avore their zettèn.


We were out in geämes and reäces,

Loud a-laughèn, wild in me’th,

Wi’ windblown heäir, an’ zunbrowned feäces,

Leäpèn on the high-sky’d e’th,

Avore the lights

Wer tin’d o’ nights,

An’ while the gossamer’s light nettèn

Sparkled to the zun a-zettèn.”
― William Barnes

“The Wind at the Door


As day did darken on the dewless grass,

There, still, wi’ nwone a-come by me

To stay a-while at hwome by me

Within the house, all dumb by me,

I zot me sad as the eventide did pass.


An’ there a win’blast shook the rattlèn door,

An’ seemed, as win’ did mwoan without,

As if my Jeäne, alwone without,

A-stannèn on the stwone without,

Wer there a-come wi’ happiness oonce mwore.


I went to door; an’ out vrom trees above

My head, upon the blast by me,

Sweet blossoms wer a-cast by me,

As if my Love, a-past by me,

Did fling em down—a token ov her love.


“Sweet blossoms o’ the tree where I do murn,”

I thought, “if you did blow vor her,

Vor apples that should grow vor her,

A-vallèn down below vor her,

O then how happy I should zee you kern!”


But no. Too soon I voun my charm a-broke.

Noo comely soul in white like her—

Noo soul a-steppèn light like her—

An’ nwone o’ comely height like her

Went by; but all my grief ageän awoke.”
― William Barnes

“The Fall


The length o’ days ageän do shrink

An’ flowers be thin in meäd, among

The eegrass a-sheenèn bright, along

Brook upon brook, an’ brink by brink.


Noo starlèns do rise in vlock on wing—

Noo goocoo in nest-green leaves do sound—

Noo swallows be now a-wheelèn round—

Dip after dip, an’ swing by swing.


The wheat that did leätely rustle thick

Is now up in mows that still be new,

An’ yollow bevore the sky o’ blue—

Tip after tip, an’ rick by rick.


While now I can walk a dusty mile

I’ll teäke me a day, while days be clear,

To vind a vew friends that still be dear,

Feäce after feäce, an’ smile by smile.”
― William Barnes