Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke

William Barnes (1801–1886)

Woak Hill

WHEN sycamore leaves wer a-spreadèn

Green-ruddy in hedges,

Bezide the red doust o’ the ridges,

A-dried at Woak Hill;

I pack’d up my goods, all a-sheenèn

Wi’ long years o’ handlèn,

On dousty red wheels ov a waggon,

To ride at Woak Hill.

The brown thatchen ruf o’ the dwellèn

I then wer a-leävèn,

Had shelter’d the sleek head o’ Meäry,

My bride at Woak Hill.

But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall

’S a-lost vrom the vloorèn.

To soon vor my jaÿ an’ my children

She died at Woak Hill.

But still I do think that, in soul,

She do hover about us;

To ho vor her motherless children,

Her pride at Woak Hill.

Zoo—lest she should tell me hereafter

I stole off ’ithout her,

An’ left her, uncall’d at house-riddèn,

To bide at Woak Hill—

I call’d her so fondly, wi’ lippèns

All soundless to others,

An’ took her wi’ aïr-reachèn hand

To my zide at Woak Hill.

On the road I did look round, a-talkèn

To light at my shoulder,

An’ then led her in at the doorway,

Miles wide vrom Woak Hill.

An’ that ’s why vo’k thought, vor a season,

My mind wer a-wandrèn

Wi’ sorrow, when I wer so sorely

A-tried at Woak Hill.

But no; that my Meäry mid never

Behold herzelf slighted,

I wanted to think that I guided

My guide vrom Woak Hill.