THE WIFE A-LOST

THE WIFE A-LOST

Since I no more do see your face,

Up stairs or down below,

I’ll sit me in the lonesome place,

Where flat-bough’d Beech do grow;

Below the Beech’s bough, my love,

Where you did never come,

An’ I don’t look to meet ye now,

As I do look at home.

Since you no more be at my side,

In walks in summer heat,

I’ll go alone where most do ride,

Through trees a-drippin’ wet;

Below the rain wet bough, my love,

Where you did never come,

An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,

As I do grieve at home.

Since now beside my dinner-board,

Your voice does never sound,

I’ll eat the bit I can afford,

A-field upon the ground;

Below the darksome bough, my love,

Where you did never dine,

An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,

As I at home do pine.

Since I do miss your voice and face,

In prayer at eventide,

I’ll pray with one sad voice for grace,

To go where you do bide;

Above the tree an’ bough, my love,

Where you be gone afore,

An’ be a-waiting for me now,

To come for evermore.

                                            William Barnes