THE PRIMRWOSE in the shade do blow, <br />The cowslip in the zun, <br />The thyme upon the down do grow, <br />The clote where streams do run; <br />An’ where do pretty maidens grow <br />An’ blow, but where the tow’r <br />Do rise among the bricken tuns, <br />In Blackmwore by the Stour. <br /> <br />If you could zee their comely gait, <br />An’ pretty faces’ smiles, <br />A-trippen on so light o’ waight, <br />An’ steppen off the stiles; <br />A-gwain to church, as bells do swing <br />An’ ring ’ithin the tow’r, <br />You’d own the pretty maidens’ place <br />Is Blackmwore by the Stour. <br /> <br />If you vrom Wimborne took your road, <br />To Stower or Paladore, <br />An’ all the farmers’ housen show’d <br />Their daughters at the door; <br />You’d cry to bachelors at hwome— <br />“Here, come: ’ithin an hour <br />You ’ll vind ten maidens to your mind, <br />In Blackmwore by the Stour.” <br /> <br />An’ if you look’d ’ithin their door, <br />To zee em in their place, <br />A-doen housework up avore <br />Their smilen mother’s face; <br />You’d cry—“Why, if a man would wive <br />An’ thrive, ’ithout a dow’r, <br />Then let en look en out a wife <br />In Blackmwore by the Stour.” <br /> <br />As I upon my road did pass <br />A school-house back in May, <br />There out upon the beäten grass <br />Wer maïdens at their play <br />An’ as the pretty souls did tweil <br />An’ smile, I cried, “The flow’r <br />O’ beauty, then, is still in bud <br />In Blackmore by the Stour.”<br /><br />William Barnes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blackmwore-maidens/
