The Stwonen Bwoy Upon The Pillar

written by


« Reload image

Wi' smokeless tuns an' empty halls,
  An' moss a-clingèn to the walls,
  In ev'ry wind the lofty tow'rs
  Do teäke the zun, an' bear the show'rs;
  An' there, 'ithin a geät a-hung,
  But vasten'd up, an' never swung,
  Upon the pillar, all alwone,
  Do stan' the little bwoy o' stwone;
  'S a poppy bud mid linger on,
  Vorseäken, when the wheat's a-gone.
  An' there, then, wi' his bow let slack,
  An' little quiver at his back,
  Drough het an' wet, the little chile
  Vrom day to day do stan' an' smile.
  When vu'st the light, a-risèn weak,
  At break o' day, do smite his cheäk,
  Or while, at noon, the leafy bough
  Do cast a sheäde a-thirt his brow,
  Or when at night the warm-breath'd cows
  Do sleep by moon-belighted boughs;
  An' there the while the rooks do bring
  Their scroff to build their nest in Spring,
  Or zwallows in the zummer day
  Do cling their little huts o' clay,
  'Ithin the raïnless sheädes, below
  The steadvast arches' mossy bow.
  Or when, in Fall, the woak do shed
  The leaves, a-wither'd, vrom his head,
  An' western win's, a-blowèn cool,
  Do dreve em out athirt the pool,
  Or Winter's clouds do gather dark
  An' wet, wi' raïn, the elem's bark,
  You'll zee his pretty smile betwixt
  His little sheäde-mark'd lips a-fix'd;
  As there his little sheäpe do bide
  Drough day an' night, an' time an' tide,
  An' never change his size or dress,
  Nor overgrow his prettiness.
  But, oh! thik child, that we do vind
  In childhood still, do call to mind
  A little bwoy a-call'd by death,
  Long years agoo, vrom our sad he'th;
  An' I, in thought, can zee en dim
  The seäme in feäce, the seäme in lim',
  My heäir mid whiten as the snow,
  My limbs grow weak, my step wear slow,
  My droopèn head mid slowly vall
  Above the han'-staff's glossy ball,
  An' yeet, vor all a wid'nèn span
  Ov years, mid change a livèn man,
  My little child do still appear
  To me wi' all his childhood's gear,
  'Ithout a beard upon his chin,
  'Ithout a wrinkle in his skin,
  A-livèn on, a child the seäme
  In look, an' sheäpe, an' size, an' neäme.

© William Barnes