We then mid yearn to clim’ the height,
Where thorns be white, above the vern;
An’ aïr do turn the zunsheen’s might
To softer light too weak to burn—
On woodless downs we mid be free,
But lowland trees be company.
Though downs mid show a wider view
O’ green a-reachèn into blue
Than roads a-windèn in the glen,
An’ ringèn wi’ the sounds o’ men;
The thissle’s crown o’ red an’ blue
In Fall’s cwold dew do wither brown,
An’ larks come down ’ithin the lew.
As storms do brew, an’ skies do frown—
An’ though the down do let us free,
The lowland trees be company.
Where birds do zing, below the zun,
In trees above the blue-smok’d tun,
An’ sheädes o’ stems do overstratch
The mossy path ’ithin the hatch;
If leaves be bright up over head,
When Maÿ do shed its glitt’rèn light;
Or, in the blight o’ Fall, do spread
A yollow bed avore our zight—
Whatever season it mid be,
The trees be always company.
When dusky night do nearly hide
The path along the hedge’s zide,
An’ dailight’s hwomely sounds be still
But sounds o’ water at the mill;
Then if noo feäce we long’d to greet
Could come to meet our lwonesome treäce
