John Hartley

(1839-1917 / England)

The Linnet - Poem by John Hartley

Little linnet,--stop a minnit,--
Let me have a tawk with thee:
Tell me what this life has in it,
Maks thee seem so full o' glee?
Why is pleasure i' full measure,
Thine throo rooasy morn to neet,
Has ta fun some wondrous treasure,
Maks thi be for ivver breet?


Sang the linnet,--'wait a minnit,
Let me whisper in thine ear;
Life has lots o' pleasure in it,
Though a shadow's oftimes near.
Ivvery shoolder has its burden,
Ivvery heart its weight o' care;
But if bravely yo accept it,
Duty finds some pleasure thear.
Lazy louts dooant know what rest is,--
Those who labor find rest sweet;
Grumling souls ne'er know what best is,--
Blessins wither 'neath ther feet.
Sorrow needs noa invitation,--
Joy is shy an must be sowt;
Grief seeks onny sitiwation,--
Willin to accept for nowt.
All pure pleasure is retirin,
Allus modest,--shrinkin,--shy,--
Like a violet,--but goa seek it,
An yo'll find it by-an-bye.
Birds an blossoms,--shaars an sunshine,
Strive to cheer man on his way;
An its nobbut them 'at willn't,
'At cant taste some joy each day.
Awm a teeny little songster,--
All mi feathers plainly grave;
But aw wish noa breeter plumage,
Awm content wi' what aw have.
An mi mate is just as lovin,
An he sings as sweet to me,--
An his message nivver varies,--
'Love me love, as aw love thee.'
An together, o'er awr nestlins,
We keep watch, i' hooaps to see,
They may sooin share in awr gladness
Full ov love,--from envy free.
Grumbler,--cast a look araand thi;--
Is this world or thee to blame?
Joys an blessins all surraand thi,--
Dar to grummel?--fie,--for shame!'


An that linnet, in a minnit,
Flitted off, the trees among;
An those joys its heart had in it,
Ovverflowed i' limpid song.
An it left me sittin, blinkin,
As it trill'd its nooats wi glee;--
An truly,--to my way o' thinkin,
Th' linnet's far moor sense nor me.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, September 14, 2010

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