Ah! Jeaene, my maid, I stood to you,
When you wer christen'd, small an' light,
Wi' tiny eaerms o' red an' blue,
A-hangen in your robe o' white.
We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone,
Vor Christ to teaeke ye vor his own,
When harvest work wer all a-done,
An' time brought round October zun—
The slanten light o' Fall.
An' I can mind the wind wer rough,
An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms,
An' you did nessle warm enough,
'Ithin your smilen mother's eaerms.
The whindlen grass did quiver light,
Among the stubble, feaeded white,
An' if at times the zunlight broke
Upon the ground, or on the vo'k,
'Twer slanten light o' Fall.
An' when we brought ye drough the door
O' Knapton Church, a child o' greaece,
There cluster'd round a'most a score
O' vo'k to zee your tiny feaece.
An' there we all did veel so proud,
To zee an' op'nen in the cloud,
An' then a stream o' light break drough,
A-sheenen brightly down on you—
The slanten light o' Fall.
But now your time's a-come to stand
In church, a-blushen at my zide,
The while a bridegroom vrom my hand
Ha' took ye vor his faithvul bride.
Your christen neaeme we gi'd ye here,
When Fall did cool the weaesten year;
An' now, ageaen, we brought ye drough
The doorway, wi' your surneaeme new,
In slanten light o' Fall.
An' zoo vur, Jeaene, your life is feaeir,
An' God ha' been your steadvast friend,
An' mid ye have mwore jay than ceaere,
Vor ever, till your journey's end.
An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride,
But now I soon mus' leaeve your zide,
Vor you ha' still life's spring-tide zun,
But my life, Jeaene, is now a-run
To slanten light o' Fall.