By Yorkshire moor, by Yorkshire dale,
We’ve wandered mony a league,
But niver known a rarer spring
Nor one at Barden Brig.
Day-springs when white-throats cannily
Flittered fra’ tree to tree
When I’d awake to find, Sweetheart,
Thine arms fasst holdin’ me
While thoo slept on, I’d listen notes
Wharfe river sang to t’ alders,
Sweet droonin’ bells an’ gurglin’ trills
‘Mang steeans an’ hollowed boulders.
Aa! how I feared a blackie* might
Disturb thee, wiv his call,
“Wake up, Sweetheart, wake up, wake up!”
Wi’ niver a break an’ all.
Happen a cock wud crow at t’ farm,
A sheep-cur yowl; then hark!
Ower a milk-white bullace* bush
T’ courtin’ lilt of a lark,
Yowlin’ wud rouse thee fra’ thi’ sleep
An’ thoo’ wud slowly wake
While I wud wish I’d silenced t’ cur
An’ ranty* birds ‘at laik*.
Then we wud start a lillilow*
Wi’ cone an’ moss an’ twig
Careless of how much watter flowed
Aneath owd Barden Brig.
(Dorothy Una Ratcliffe)
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Based on Topics: Romantic Love PoemsBased on Keywords: brig, niver, holdin, wud, laik, alders, aneath, courtin, owd, yorkshire, watter