Another Poem in the Dorset Dialect...

Just over a year ago, I posted a poem from an old book I found online.  The book was called Poems in the Dorset Dialect, and contained some fascinating works,  The poem I posted was called False Friends-Like; here is Our Abode in Arby Wood.

OUR ABODE IN ARBY WOOD

Though ice do hang upon the willows,

Out bezide the vrozen brook,

An' storms do roar above our pillows,

Droo the night, 'ithin our nook;

Our evenen he'th 's a-glowen warm,

Droo wringen vrost, an' roaren storm.

Through winds mid meake the wold beams sheake,

In our abode in Arby Wood.

An' there, though we mid hear the timber,

Creaken in the windy rain;

An' climen ivy quiver, limber,

Up agean the windor peane;

Our merry vaices then do sound,

In rollen glee, or drec-vaice round;

Though wind mid roar, 'ithout the door,

Ov our abode in Arby Wood,