Vor here, ’ithin the woody drong,
A ribbèd elem-stem do lie,
A-vell’d in Spring, an’ stratch’d along
A bed o’ grægles up knee-high,
A sheädy seat to rest, an’ let
The burnèn het o’ noon goo by.
Or if you’d look, wi’ wider scope,
Out where the gray-tree’d plaïn do spread,
The ash bezide the zunny slope,
Do sheäde a cool-aïr’d deäisy bed,
An’ grassy seat, wi’ spreadèn eaves
O’ rus’lèn leaves, above your head.
An’ there the traïn mid come in zight,
Too vur to hear a-rollèn by,
A-breathèn quick, in heästy flight,
His breath o’ tweil, avore the sky,
The while the waggon, wi’ his lwoad,
Do crawl the rwoad a-windèn nigh.
Or now theäse happy holiday
Do let vo’k rest their weary lim’s,
An’ lwoaded haÿ’s a-hangèn gray,
Above the waggon-wheels’ dry rims,
The meäd ha’ seats in weäles or pooks,
By windèn brooks, wi’ crumblèn brims.
Or if you’d gi’e your thoughtvul mind
To yonder long-vorseäken hall,
Then teäke a stwonèn seat behind
The ivy on the broken wall,
An’ learn how e’thly wealth an’ might
Mid dim’ their height, an’ then mid vall.
