The speaker is a widower who can no longer bear his own home. Every room and routine reminds him of his wife, so he deliberately seeks out places she never visited — beneath a flat-branched beech tree, along misty paths, in a field for a meager meal. In these lonely spots, he claims he doesn’t grieve for her as sharply as he does at home, where her absence is inescapable. The repetition of “where you did never come” reveals a quiet logic: grief feels lighter where there are no shared memories to reopen the wound. For three stanzas, he methodically avoids what they once did together. Then, at evening prayer, this strategy collapses. Alone, he prays not for escape but for the grace to follow where she has gone. The poem’s final lines land with a patient hope — a waiting for reunion “vor evermwore.” The Dorset dialect and hushed rhythm give the sorrow an intimate, unpolished quality, as if we’re overhearing a man thinking aloud in an empty room.
The Wife a-Lost — Summary
Since I noo mwore do zee your feace, Up steairs or down below, I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleace, Where flat-bough’d beech do grow; Below the beeches’ bough, my love, Where you did never come, An’ I don’t look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome.
Since you noo mwore be at my zide, In walks in zummer het, I’ll goo alwone where mist do ride, Drough trees a-drippen 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 hwome.
Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard Your vaice do never sound, I’ll eat the bit I can avword, A-vield 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 hwome do pine.
Since I do miss your vaice an’ feace In prayer at eventide, I’ll pray wi’ woone sad vaice vor greace To goo where you do bide; Above the tree an’ bough, my love, Where you be gone avore, An’ be a-waiten vor me now, To come vor evermwore.