Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Woone Smile Mwore
WOONE SMILE MWORE.
O! Meäry, when the zun went down,
Woone night in Spring, wi’ vi’ry rim,
Behind thik nap wi’ woody crown,
An’ left your smilèn feäce so dim;
Your little sister there, inside,
Wi’ bellows on her little knee,
Did blow the vier, a-glearèn wide
Drough window-peänes, that I could zee,—
As you did stan’ wi’ me, avore
The house, a-peärten,—woone smile mwore.
The chatt’rèn birds, a-risèn high,
An’ zinkèn low, did swiftly vlee
Vrom shrinkèn moss, a-growèn dry,
Upon the leänèn apple tree.
An’ there the dog, a-whippèn wide
His heäiry taïl, an’ comèn near,
Did fondly lay ageän your zide
His coal-black nose an’ russet ear:
To win what I’d a-won avore,
Vrom your gaÿ feäce, his woone smile mwore.
An’ while your mother bustled sprack,
A-gettèn supper out in hall,
An’ cast her sheäde, a-whiv’rèn black
Avore the vier, upon the wall;
Your brother come, wi’ easy peäce,
In drough the slammèn geäte, along
The path, wi’ healthy-bloomèn feäce,
A-whis’lèn shrill his last new zong;
An’ when he come avore the door,
He met vrom you his woone smile mwore.
Now you that war the daughter there,
Be mother on a husband’s vloor,
An’ mid ye meet wi’ less o’ ceäre
Than what your hearty mother bore;
An’ if abroad I have to rue
The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed,
Mid I come hwome to sheäre wi’ you
What’s needvul free o’ pinchèn need:
An’ vind that you ha’ still in store,
My evenèn meal, an’ woone smile mwore.