Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect by William Barnes. Second Collection. Second Edition |
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THE MOTHERLESS CHILD. |
 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
THE MOTHERLESS CHILD.
The zun'd a-zet back t'other night,
But in the zettèn pleäce
The clouds, a-redden'd by his light,
Still glow'd avore my feäce.
An' I've a-lost my Meäry's smile,
I thought; but still I have her chile,
Zoo like her, that my eyes can treäce
The mother's in her daughter's feäce.
O little feäce so near to me,
An' like thy mother's gone; why need I zay
Sweet night cloud, wi' the glow o' my lost day,
Thy looks be always dear to me.
But in the zettèn pleäce
The clouds, a-redden'd by his light,
Still glow'd avore my feäce.
An' I've a-lost my Meäry's smile,
I thought; but still I have her chile,
Zoo like her, that my eyes can treäce
The mother's in her daughter's feäce.
O little feäce so near to me,
An' like thy mother's gone; why need I zay
Sweet night cloud, wi' the glow o' my lost day,
Thy looks be always dear to me.
26
The zun'd a-zet another night;
But, by the moon on high,
He still did zend us back his light
Below a cwolder sky.
My Meäry's in a better land
I thought, but still her chile's at hand,
An' in her chile she'll zend me on
Her love, though she herself's a-gone.
O little chile so near to me,
An' like thy mother gone; why need I zay,
Sweet moon, the messenger vrom my lost day,
Thy looks be always dear to me.
But, by the moon on high,
He still did zend us back his light
Below a cwolder sky.
My Meäry's in a better land
I thought, but still her chile's at hand,
An' in her chile she'll zend me on
Her love, though she herself's a-gone.
O little chile so near to me,
An' like thy mother gone; why need I zay,
Sweet moon, the messenger vrom my lost day,
Thy looks be always dear to me.
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |