The Wife a-lost

By William Barnes

1801-1886


SINCE I noo mwore do zee your feäce,
         Up steärs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleäce,
         Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
         Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
         As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
         In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
         Droo trees a-drippen wet;
Below the raïn-wet bough, my love,
         Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
         As I do grieve at hwome.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
         Your vaïce do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword
         A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
         Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
         As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your vaïce an' feäce
         In prayer at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad vaïce vor greäce
         To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
         Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-waïten vor me now,
         To come vor evermwore.

DayPoems Poem No. 611
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/611.html">The Wife a-lost by William Barnes</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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