The while ageän my lwonesome ears
Did russle weatherbeäten spears,
Below the withy’s leafless head
That overhung the river’s bed;
I there did think o’ days that dried
The new-mow’d grass o’ zummer-tide,
When white-sleev’d mowers’ whetted bleädes
Rung sh’ill along the green-bough’d gleädes,
An’ maïdens gaÿ, wi’ plaÿsome chaps,
A-zot wi’ dinners in their laps,
Did talk wi’ merry words that rung
Around the ring, vrom tongue to tongue;
An’ welcome, when the leaves ha’ died,
Be zummer thoughts in winter-tide.
I’M OUT O’ DOOR.
I’m out, when, in the Winter’s blast,
The zun, a-runnèn lowly round,
Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast
At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground.
I’m out when snow’s a-lyèn white
In keen-aïr’d vields that I do pass,
An’ moonbeams, vrom above, do smite
On ice an’ sleeper’s window-glass.
I’m out o’ door,
When win’ do zweep,
By hangèn steep,
Or hollow deep,
At Lindenore.
O welcome is the lewth a-vound
By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank,
Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown’d
By barken-grass, a-springèn rank;
