The poem
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded, Now do quiver under voot; An' birds do whissle over head, An' water's bubblen in its bed, An' there vor me the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. When leaves that leately wer a-springen Now do feade 'ithin the copse, An' painted birds do hush their zingen Up upon the timber's tops; An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnen red, In cloudless zunsheen, over head, Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Let other vo'k meake money vaster In the air o' dark-room'd towns, I don't dread a peevish measter; Though noo man do heed my frowns, I be free to goo abrode, Or teake agean my hwomeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
If you are going to post a poem it should definately have no typos. I belive it is degrading to William Barnes that his can be published on the web with such terrible spelling.
Dear Hannah
This poem is written in dialect and there there are no typo's in this poem. It is written as William Barnes would have said and how he wrote it!!
Okay, so "believe," right? i before e except after c or something. Still not as bad as the poem. I understand the poem is written in dialect. To make everyone happy, the (today) correct wording of this poem. Within the woodlands, flow'ry gladed, By the oak trees' mossy moot, The shining grass blades, timber shaded, Now do quiver under foot; And birds do whistle overhead, And water's bubbling in its bed; And there…
Read the whole commentOkay, so "believe," right? i before e except after c or something. Still not as bad as the poem. I understand the poem is written in dialect. To make everyone happy, the (today) correct wording of this poem.
Within the woodlands, flow'ry gladed,
By the oak trees' mossy moot,
The shining grass blades, timber shaded,
Now do quiver under foot;
And birds do whistle overhead,
And water's bubbling in its bed;
And there o'er me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
When leaves, that lately were a-springing,
Now do fade within the copse,
And painted birds do hush their singing,
Up upon the timber tops;
And brown-leaved fruits a-turning red,
In cloudless sunshine overhead,
With fruit for me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Let other folk make money faster,
In the air of dark-room'd towns;
I don't dread a peevish master,
Though no man may heed my frowns.
I be free to go abroad,
Or take again my homeward road,
To where, for me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
It's also been put to melodic genius by Ralph Vaughn Williams.
I've tried to get into the poetry forum for a week. I cannot ever get into it. Please help.