(William Barnes)






Third Collection. In the Spring


My love is the maïd ov all maïdens,
 Though all mid be comely,
Her skins lik the jessamy blossom
 A-spread in the Spring.

Her smile is so sweet as a beäbys
 Young smile on his mother,
Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop
 A-shed in the Spring.

O grey-leafy pinks o the geärden,
 Now bear her sweet blossoms;
Now deck wi a rwose-bud, O briar,
 Her head in the Spring.

O light-rollèn wind blow me hither,
 The vaïce ov her talkèn,
Or bring vrom her veet the light doust,
 She do tread in the Spring.

O zun, meäke the gilcups all glitter,
 In goold all around her;
An meäke o the deäisys white flowers
 A bed in the Spring.

O whissle gaÿ birds, up bezide her,
 In drong-waÿ, an woodlands,
O zing, swingèn lark, now the clouds,
 Be a-vled in the Spring.

An who, you mid ax, be my praïses
 A-meäkèn so much o,
An oh! tis the maïd Im a-hopèn
 To wed in the Spring.






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