Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Meäple Leaves be Yollow

by William Barnes

MEAPLE LEAVES BE YOLLOW.

Come, let’s stroll down so vur’s the poun’,
Avore the sparklèn zun is down:
The zummer’s gone, an’ days so feäir
As theäse be now a-gettèn reäre.
The night, wi’ mwore than daylight’s sheäre
 O’ wat’ry sky, do wet wi’ dew
 The ee-grass up above woone’s shoe,
  An’ meäple leaves be yollow.

The last hot doust, above the road,
An’ vu’st dead leaves ha’ been a-blow’d
By plaÿsome win’s where spring did spread
The blossoms that the zummer shed;
An’ near blue sloos an’ conkers red
 The evenèn zun, a zettèn soon,
 Do leäve a-quiv’rèn to the moon,
  The meäple leaves so yollow.

Zoo come along, an’ let’s injaÿ
The last fine weather while do staÿ;
While thou canst hang, wi’ ribbons slack,
Thy bonnet down upon thy back,
Avore the winter, cwold an’ black,
 Do kill thy flowers, an’ avore
 Thy bird-cage is a-took in door,
  Though meäple leaves be yollow.