The Wife a-Lost
Since I noo mwore do zee your feace,
Up steairs or down below,
Ill zit me in the lwonesome pleace,
Where flat-boughd beech do grow;
Below the beeches bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An I dont look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.
Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
Ill goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippen wet;
Below the rain-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An I dont grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.
Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your vaice do never sound,
Ill eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An I dont grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.
Since I do miss your vaice an feace
In prayer at eventide,
Ill pray wi woone sad vaice vor greace
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An be a-waiten vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.
Poems by William Barnes
