Poem by William Barnes

Third Collection. I’m out o’ Door

I’m out, when, in the Winter’s blast,
 The zun, a-runnèn lowly round,
Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast
 At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground.
I’m out when snow’s a-lyèn white
 In keen-aïr’d vields that I do pass,
An’ moonbeams, vrom above, do smite
 On ice an’ sleeper’s window-glass.
    I’m out o’ door,
    When win’ do zweep,
    By hangèn steep,
    Or hollow deep,
        At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound
 By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank,
Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown’d
 By barken-grass, a-springèn rank;
Or where the waggon, vrom the team
 A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet,
An’ on the dousty cart-house beam
 Do hang the cobweb’s white-lin’d net.
    While storms do roar,
    An’ win’ do zweep,
    By hangèn steep,
    Or hollow deep,
        At Lindenore.

An’ when a good day’s work ’s a-done
 An’ I do rest, the while a squall
Do rumble in the hollow tun,
 An’ ivy-stems do whip the wall.
Then in the house do sound about
 My ears, dear vaïces vull or thin,
A praÿèn vor the souls vur out
 At sea, an’ cry wi’ bibb’rèn chin—
    Oh! shut the door.
    What soul can sleep,
    Upon the deep,
    When storms do zweep
        At Lindenore.

1. Third Collection. Tweil
2. Second Collection. Light or Sheäde
3. Third Collection. Comen Hwome
4. Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
5. Second Collection. The Slantèn light o’ Fall

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