Woone Smile Mwore
By William Barnes
O! MARY, when the zun went down,
Woone night in spring, w viry rim,
Behind the nap wi woody crown,
An left your smilen face so dim;
Your little sister there, inside,
Wi bellows on her little knee,
Did blow the vire, a-glearen wide
Drough window-panes, that I could zee,
As you did stan wi me, avore
The house, a-parten, woone smile mwore.
The chattren birds, a-risen high,
An zinken low, did swiftly vlee
Vrom shrinken moss, a-growen dry,
Upon the lanen apple tree.
An there the dog, a-whippen wide
His hairy tail, an comen near,
Did fondly lay agan you zide
His coal-black nose an russet ear:
To win what I d a-won avore,
Vrom your gay; face, his woone smile mwore.
An while your mother bustled sprack,
A-getten supper out in hall,
An cast her shade, a-whivren black
Avore the vire, upon the wall;
Your brother come, wi easy pace,
In drough the slammen gate, along
The path, wi healthy-bloomen face,
A-whislen shrill his last new zong:
An when he come avore the door,
He met vrom you his woone smile mwore.
Now you that wer the daughter there,
Be mother on a husbands vloor,
An mid ye meet wi less o care
Than what your harty mother bore;
An if abroad I have to rue
The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed,
Mid I come hwome to share wi you
What s needvul free o pinchen need:
An vind that you ha still in store
My evenen meal, an woone smile mwore.