Evenen In The Village
By William Barnes
Now the light o the west is a-turnd to gloom,
An the men be at hwome vrom ground;
An the bells be a-zendn 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,
An the water do roar at mill.
An the flickern light drough the window-pene
Vrom the candles dull fleme do shoot,
An young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down lene,
A-plan his shrill-vaiced flute.
An the millers man,
Do zit down at his ease
On the seat that is under the cluster o trees,
Wi his pipe an his cider can.