When I've a-had a tree to screen My meal-rest vrom the high zunn'd-sky, Or ivy-holdèn wall between My head an' win's a-rustlèn by, I had noo call vor han's to bring Their seäv'ry daïnties at my nod, But stoop'd a-drinkèn vrom the spring, An' took my meal, wi' thanks to God, Wi' faïth to keep me free o' dread, An' peäce to sleep wi' steadvast head, An' freedom's hands, an' veet unbound To woone man's work, or woone seäme ground.
The gather'd clouds, a-hangèn low, Do meäke the woody ridge look dim; An' raïn-vill'd streams do brisker flow, Arisèn higher to their brim. In the tree, vrom lim' to lim', Leaves do drop Vrom the top, all slowly down, Yollow, to the gloomy groun'.
The rick's a-tipp'd an' weather-brown'd, An' thatch'd wi' zedge a-dried an' dead; An' orcha'd apples, red half round, Have all a-happer'd down, a-shed Underneath the trees' wide head. Ladders long, Rong by rong, to clim' the tall Trees, be hung upon the wall.
The crumpled leaves be now a-shed In mornèn winds a-blowèn keen; When they wer green the moss wer dead, Now they be dead the moss is green. Low the evenèn zun do sheen By the boughs, Where the cows do swing their taïls Over the merry milkers' païls.
Now the yollow zun, a-runnèn Daily round a smaller bow, Still wi' cloudless sky's a-zunnèn All the sheenèn land below. Vewer blossoms now do blow, But the fruit's a-showèn Reds an' blues, an' purple hues, By the leaves a-glowèn.
Now the childern be a-pryèn Roun' the berried bremble-bow, Zome a-laughèn, woone a-cryèn Vor the slent her frock do show. Bwoys be out a-pullèn low Slooe-boughs, or a-runnèn Where, on zides of hazzle-wrides, Nuts do hang a-zunnèn.
Where do reach roun' wheat-ricks yollow Oves o' thatch, in long-drawn ring, There, by stubbly hump an' hollow, Russet-dappled dogs do spring. Soon my apple-trees wull fling Bloomèn balls below em, That shall hide, on ev'ry zide Ground where we do drow em.
The zilver-weed upon the green, Out where my sons an' daughters play'd, Had never time to bloom between The litty steps o' bwoy an' maïd. But rwose-trees down along the wall, That then wer all the maïden's ceäre, An' all a-trimm'd an' traïn'd, did bear Their bloomèn buds vrom Spring to Fall.
But now the zilver leaves do show To zummer day their goolden crown, Wi' noo swift shoe-zoles' litty blow, In merry plaÿ to beät em down. An' where vor years zome busy hand Did traïn the rwoses wide an' high; Now woone by woone the trees do die, An' vew of all the row do stand.