THE BWOAT.
Where cows did slowly seek the brink
O’ Stour, drough zunburnt grass, to drink;
Wi’ vishèn float, that there did zink
An’ rise, I zot as in a dream.
The dazzlèn zun did cast his light
On hedge-row blossom, snowy white,
Though nothèn yet did come in zight,
A-stirrèn on the straÿèn stream;
Till, out by sheädy rocks there show’d,
A bwoat along his foamy road,
Wi’ thik feäir maid at mill, a-row’d
Wi’ Jeäne behind her brother’s oars.
An’ steätely as a queen o’ vo’k,
She zot wi’ floatèn scarlet cloak,
An’ comèn on, at ev’ry stroke,
Between my withy-sheäded shores.
The broken stream did idly try
To show her sheäpe a-ridèn by,
The rushes brown-bloom’d stems did ply,
As if they bow’d to her by will.
The rings o’ water, wi’ a sock,
Did break upon the mossy rock,
An’ gi’e my beätèn heart a shock,
Above my float’s up-leapèn quill.
Then, lik’ a cloud below the skies,
A-drifted off, wi’ less’nèn size,
An’ lost, she floated vrom my eyes,
Where down below the stream did wind;
An’ left the quiet weäves woonce mwore
To zink to rest, a sky-blue’d vloor,
Wi’ all so still’s the clote they bore,
Aye, all but my own ruffled mind.
