Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect

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Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner, 1898 - Dialect poetry, English - 467 pages

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Page 187 - BLACKMWORE MAIDENS THE primrwose in the sheade do blow, The cowslip in the zun. The thyme upon the down do grow. The clote where streams do run; An...
Page 350 - An' then led her in at the door-way, Miles wide vrom Woak Hill. An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, My mind wer a-wandren Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely A-tried at Woak Hill. But no; that my Mea'ry mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill.
Page 155 - How mother, when we us'd to stun Her head wi' all our na'isy fun, Did wish us all a-gone vrom hwome : An
Page 116 - An' slammen door an' rottlen lock That in thik empty house da sound Da never seem to miake look round '/V/ik downcast weepen liady. A liady, as the tiale da goo, That oonce liv'd there, an' lov'd too true, Wer by a young man cast azide A mother sad, but not a bride; An...
Page 284 - JESSIE LEE Above the timber's benden sh'ouds, The western wind did softly blow; An' up avore the knap, the clouds Did ride as white as driven snow. Vrom west to east the clouds did zwim Wi' wind that plied the elem's lim'; Vrom west to east the stream did glide, A-sheenen wide, wi
Page 104 - O' letten bits o' groun' out to the poor. JOHN: Well, I do hope 'tis true, I'm sure; An 'I do hope that they will do it here, Or I must goo to workhouse, I do fear.
Page 226 - They clear'd the groun' vor grass to teake The pleace that bore the bremble breake, An' drai'n'd the fen, where water spread, A-lyen dead, a beane to men ; An' built the mill, where still the wheel Do grind our meal, below the hill ; An' turn'd the bridge, wi' arch a-spread, Below a road, vor us to tread.
Page 352 - Or bring vrom her veet the light doust, She do tread in the Spring. O zun, meake the gil'cups all glitter, In goold all around her; An' meake o' the deaisys' white flowers A bed in the Spring.
Page 22 - Wi' cloudless feace a-flingen down His sparklen light upon the groun'. The air's a-streamen soft, — come drow The winder open; let it blow In drough the house, where vire, an' door A-shut, kept out the cwold avore.
Page 22 - Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom, An' the men be at hwome vrom ground ; An' the bells be a-zenden all down the Coombe From tower, their mwoansome sound. An' the wind is still, An' the house-dogs do bark, An' the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an* dark.

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