The Homestead

by William Barnes

William Barnes

If I had all the land my zight
    Can overlook vrom Chalwell hill,
  Vrom Sherborn left to Blanvord right,
    Why I could be but happy still.
  An' I be happy wi' my spot
  O' freehold ground an' mossy cot,
  An' shoulden get a better lot
    If I had all my will.
  My orcha'd's wide, my trees be young;
    An' they do bear such heavy crops,
  Their boughs, lik' onion-rwopes a-hung,
    Be all a-trigg'd to year, wi' props.
  I got some geärden groun' to dig,
  A parrock, an' a cow an' pig;
  I got zome cider vor to swig,
    An' eäle o' malt an' hops.
  I'm landlord o' my little farm,
    I'm king 'ithin my little pleäce;
  I don't break laws, an' don't do harm,
    An' bent a-feär'd o' noo man's feäce.
  When I'm a-cover'd wi' my thatch,
  Noo man do deäre to lift my latch;
  Where honest han's do shut the hatch,
    There fear do leäve the pleäce.
  My lofty elem trees do screen
    My brown-ruf'd house, an' here below,
  My geese do strut athirt the green,
    An' hiss an' flap their wings o' snow;
  As I do walk along a rank
  Ov apple trees, or by a bank,
  Or zit upon a bar or plank,
    To see how things do grow.





Last updated January 14, 2019