The dreven scud that overcast
The zummer sky is all a-past,
An’ softer air, a-blowen drough
The quiv’ren boughs, do sheaeke the vew
Last rain drops off the leaves lik’ dew;
An’ peaeviers, now a-getten dry,
Do steam below the zunny sky
That’s now so vast a-cleaeren.
The sheaedes that wer a-lost below
The stormy cloud, ageaen do show
Their mocken sheaepes below the light;
An’ house-walls be a-looken white,
An’ vo’k do stir woonce mwore in zight,
An’ busy birds upon the wing
Do whiver roun’ the boughs an’ zing,
To zee the sky a-clearen.
Below the hill’s an ash; below
The ash, white elder-flow’rs do blow:
Below the elder is a bed
O’ robinhoods o’ blushen red;
An’ there, wi’ nunches all a-spread,
The hay-meaekers, wi’ each a cup
O’ drink, do smile to zee hold up
The rain, an’ sky a-cleaeren.
‘Mid blushen maidens, wi’ their zong,
Still draw their white-stemm’d reaekes among
The long-back’d weaeles an’ new-meaede pooks,
By brown-stemm’d trees an’ cloty brooks;
But have noo call to spweil their looks
By work, that God could never meaeke
Their weaker han’s to underteaeke,
Though skies mid be a-cleaeren.
’Tis wrong vor women’s han’s to clips
The zull an’ reap-hook, speaedes an’ whips;
An’ men abroad, should leaeve, by right,
Woone faithful heart at hwome to light
Their bit o’ vier up at night,
An’ hang upon the hedge to dry
Their snow-white linen, when the sky
In winter is a-cleaeren.
Other works by William Barnes...
