Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Zummer Winds
ZUMMER WINDS.
Let me work, but mid noo tie
Hold me vrom the oben sky,
When zummer winds, in plaÿsome flight,
Do blow on vields in noon-day light,
Or ruslèn trees, in twilight night.
Sweet’s a stroll,
By flow’ry knowl, or blue-feäcèd pool
That zummer win’s do ruffle cool.
When the moon’s broad light do vill
Plaïns, a-sheenèn down the hill;
A-glitterèn on window glass,
O then, while zummer win’s do pass
The rippled brook, an’ swaÿèn grass,
Sweet’s a walk,
Where we do talk, wi’ feäces bright,
In whispers in the peacevul night.
When the swaÿèn men do mow
Flow’ry grass, wi’ zweepèn blow,
In het a-most enough to dry
The flat-spread clote-leaf that do lie
Upon the stream a-stealèn by,
Sweet’s their rest,
Upon the breast o’ knap or mound
Out where the goocoo’s vaïce do sound.
Where the sleek-heäir’d maïd do zit
Out o’ door to zew or knit,
Below the elem where the spring
’S a-runnèn, an’ the road do bring
The people by to hear her zing,
On the green,
Where she’s a-zeen, an’ she can zee,
O gaÿ is she below the tree.
Come, O zummer wind, an’ bring
Sounds o’ birds as they do zing,
An’ bring the smell o’ bloomèn maÿ,
An’ bring the smell o’ new-mow’d haÿ;
Come fan my feäce as I do stray,
Fan the heäir
O’ Jessie feäir; fan her cool,
By the weäves o’ stream or pool.