An' zoo I still wull cheer Her life wi' my small store, As she do drop a tear Bezide her lwonesome door. The love that I do owe Her ruf, I'll paÿ, An' then zit down below My own wi' jaÿ.
Well, you mid keep the town an' street, Wi' grassless stwones to beät your veet, An' zunless windows where your brows Be never cooled by swaÿèn boughs; An' let me end, as I begun, My days in oben aïr an' zun, Where zummer win's a-blowèn sweet, Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet; Or swaÿèn boughs, a-bendèn low Wi' rip'nèn apples in a row, An' we a-risèn rathe do meet The bright'nèn dawn wi' dewy veet, An' leäve, at night, the vootless groves, To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves. An' here our childern still do bruise The deäisy buds wi' tiny shoes, As we did meet avore em, free Vrom ceäre, in play below the tree. An' there in me'th their lively eyes Do glissen to the zunny skies, As aïr do blow, wi' leäzy peäce To cool, in sheäde, their burnèn feäce. Where leaves o' spreadèn docks do hide The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide, An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs, Among the deäisy's crimson rims. An' they, so proud, wi' eärms a-spread To keep their balance good, do tread Wi' ceäreful steps o' tiny zoles The narrow zides o' trees an' poles. An' zoo I'll leäve vor your light veet The peävement o' the zunless street, While I do end, as I begun, My days in oben aïr an' zun.
WHAT JOHN WER A-TELLÈN HIS MIS'ESS OUT IN THE CORN GROUND.
Ah! mam! you woonce come here the while The zun, long years agoo, did shed His het upon the wheat in hile, Wi' yollow hau'm an' ears o' red, Wi' little shoes too thin vor walks Upon the scratchèn stubble-stalks; You hardly reach'd wi' glossy head, The vore wheel's top o' dousty red. How time's a-vled! How years do vlee!
An' there you went an' zot inzide A hile, in aïr a-streamèn cool, As if 'ithin a room, vull wide An' high, you zot to guide an' rule. You leäz'd about the stubbly land, An' soon vill'd up your small left hand Wi' ruddy ears your right hand vound, An' traïl'd the stalks along the ground. How time's a-gone! How years do goo!
Then in the waggon you did teäke A ride, an' as the wheels vell down Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheäke On your small head your poppy crown, An' now your little maïd, a dear, Your childhood's very daps, is here, Zoo let her staÿ, that her young feäce Mid put a former year in pleäce. How time do run! How years do roll!