When sycamore leaves wer a-spreadèn <br /> Green-ruddy in hedges, <br /> Bezide the red doust o' the ridges, <br /> A-dried at Woak Hill; <br /> <br /> I packed up my goods all a sheenèn <br /> Wi' long years o' handlèn, <br /> On dousty red wheel ov a waggon, <br /> To ride at Woak Hill. <br /> <br /> The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellèn, <br /> I then wer a-le{'a}vèn, <br /> Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Me{'a}ry, <br /> My bride at Woak Hill. <br /> <br /> But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall <br /> 'S a-lost vrom the vloorèn. <br /> Too soon vor my ja{'y} an' my childern, <br /> She died at Woak Hill. <br /> <br /> But still I do think that, in soul, <br /> She do hover about us; <br /> To ho vor her motherless childern, <br /> Her pride at Woak Hill. <br /> <br /> Zoo--lest she should tell me hereafter <br /> I stole off 'ithout her, <br /> An' left her, uncall'd at house-riddèn, <br /> To bide at Woak Hill-- <br /> <br /> I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippèns <br /> All soundless to others, <br /> An' took her wi' a{'i}r-reachèn hand, <br /> To my zide at Woak Hill. <br /> <br /> On the road I did look round, a-talkèn <br /> To light at my shoulder, <br /> An' then led her in at the doorway, <br /> Miles wide vrom Woak Hill. <br /> <br /> An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, <br /> My mind wer a-wandrèn <br /> Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely <br /> A-tried at Woak Hill. <br /> <br /> But no; that my Me{'a}ry mid never <br /> Behold herzelf slighted, <br /> I wanted to think that I guided <br /> My guide vrom Woak Hill.<br /><br />William Barnes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/woak-hill/
