’t Hold op mei sear dwaan, mar sa traach
Dat Ik it wee net fuortgean seach -
Wist inkeld nei’t Ik omsjoen hie -
Dat eat - it Spoar ferwiskjen die -
Ik koe net sizze sûnt wannear,
Want Ik hie ’t droegen, kear op kear,
Sa faken as it Bernejak -
Dat Ik nachts ophong, oan in Heak.
Mar net de Rou - dy nestele Fêst
As Nullen - sêft troch dames treaun
Yn Kjessenwangen -
Hy is bleaun -
Ek fûn Ik net wat treast jûn hie -
Bliuwt oer, dat wêr’t earst Wyldlân wie -
It better is - hast Rêst -
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not see the trouble go -
But only knew by looking back -
That something - had benumbed the Track -
Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock -
I hung upon the Peg, at night.
But not the Grief - that nestled Close
As Needles - ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks -
To keep their place -
Nor what consoled it, I could trace -
Except, whereas ’twas Wilderness -
It’s better - almost Peace -
F421 (J584)
