‘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.
(Ingeborg Bachmann)
More Poetry from Ingeborg Bachmann:
Ingeborg Bachmann Poems based on Topics: Nature, Man, Birds- To The Sun (Ingeborg Bachmann Poems)
- Nebelland (Ingeborg Bachmann Poems)
- Every Day (Ingeborg Bachmann Poems)
- I Know No Better World (Ingeborg Bachmann Poems)
- I Step Outside Myself (Ingeborg Bachmann Poems)
- The Girt Woak Tree (Ingeborg Bachmann Poem)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Man Poems, Nature Poems, Birds PoemsBased on Keywords: painted, hush, apple, heed, money, quiver, towns, lea, mossy, woodlands, cloudless