You then, vor me, meäde up your mind To leäve your rights o' hwome behind, Your width o' teäble-rim an' bit O' virezide vloor, where you did zit, An' all your walks by stiles and geätes O' summer vields wi' maïden meätes, To guide vor me my house, though small, A-reckon'd, all my house mid be. Come, hood your head; the wind is keen. Come this zide, here. I'll be your screen. The clothes your mother put ye on Be now a-worn all out an' gone, An' you do wear vrom top to tooe What my true love ha' bought ye new, That now in comely sheäpe's a-shown, My own a-deckèn ov my own; An' oh! ov all that I've a-got, Vor your sweet lot a half is small. Come, hood your head; wrap up, now do. Walk clwose to me. I'll keep ye lew. An' now when we be out to spend A vrosty night wi' zome wold friend, An' ringèn clocks to tell at last The evenèn hour's a-gone too vast, Noo vorked roads, to left an' right, Do sunder us vor night or light; But all my woe's vor you to veel, An' all my weal's vor you to know. Come, hood your head. You can't zee out? I'll leäd ye right, you needèn doubt. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUF WIEDERSEHEN! SUMMER by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SONNET: 65 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE EPITAPH ON FRANCIS CHARTRES by JOHN ARBUTHNOT BRUCE: HOW KING ROBERT WAS HUNTED BY THE SLEUTH-HOUND by JOHN BARBOUR A QUARTET ('THE MIKADO' AT CAMBRIDGE) by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 107. THE SUBLIME: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |