O AYE! they had woone child bezide, <br />An' a finer your eyes never met, <br />Twer a dear little fellow that died <br />In the summer that come wi' such het; <br />By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun, <br />He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes, <br />Vrom the light ov the dew-dryen zun,- <br />Aye! vrom days under the blue-hollow'd skies. <br /> <br />He went out to the mowers in meade, <br />When the zun wer a-rose to his height, <br />An' the men wer a-swingen the snead, <br />Wi' their earms in white sleeves, left an' right; <br />An' out there, as they rested at noon, <br />O! they drench'd en vrom eale-horns too deep, <br />Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon; <br />Aye! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep. <br /> <br />Then they laid en there-right on the ground, <br />On a grass-heap, a-zweltren wi'het, <br />Wi' his heair all a-wetted around <br />His young feace, wi' the big drops o' zweat; <br />In his little left palm he'd a-zet, <br />Wi' his right hand, his vore-finger's tip; <br />As vor zome-hat he woulden vorget,- <br />Aye! zome thought that he woulden let slip. <br /> <br />Then they took en in hwome to his bed, <br />An' he rose vrom his pillow noo mwore, <br />Vor the curls on his sleek little head <br />To be blown by the wind out o' door. <br />Vor he died while the hay russled grey <br />On the staddle so leately begun: <br />Lik' the mown grass a-dried by the day,- <br />Aye! the zwath-flow'r's a-killed by the zun.<br /><br />William Barnes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-child-an-the-mowers/
