POEMS IN THE DORSET DIALECT. 225 



" Sweet blossoms o' the tree where I do murn," 



I thought, " if you did blow vor her, 



Vor apples that should grow vor her, 



A-vallen down below vor her, 



O then how happy I should zee you kern." 



But no. Too soon I voun' my charm abroke. 

 Noo comely soul in white like her 

 Noo soul a-steppen light like her 

 An' nwone o' comely height like her 

 Went by ; but all my grief agean awoke. 



2. WINTER A-COMEN. 



I'm glad we have wood in store awhile, 

 Avore all the ground's avroze awhile ; 

 Vor soon we must shut the door awhile 

 Vrom wind that's a-whirlen snow. 



The zwallows have all a-hied away, 

 The flowers have now a-died away, 

 An' boughs, wi' their leaves, a-dried away, 

 In wind do goo to an' fro. 



Your walks in the ash-tree droves be cwold, 

 Your banks in the elem groves be cwold, 

 Your bench by the house's oves be cwold 

 Where zummer did leately glow. 



Noo rwose is a-bloomen red to-day, 

 Noo pink vor your breast or head to-day, 

 A-decken the gearden bed to-day, 

 Do linger a-nodden low. 



Noo mwore is the swingen lark above, 

 An air a-clouded dark above 

 Do stifle the zun's last spark above, 

 Where little blue sky do show. 



