Up on the plough’d hill brow,
Still wer the zull’s wheel’d beam,
Still wer the red-wheel’d plough,
Free o’ the strong limb’d team.
Still wer the shop that the smith meäde ring,
Dark where the sparks did spring;
Low shot the zun’s last beams.
Lim’-weary souls “Good dreams,”
Where I vrom dark bank-sheädes
Turn’d up the west hill road,
Where all the green grass bleädes
Under the zunlight glow’d.
Startled I met, as the zunbeams plaÿ’d
Light, wi’ a zunsmote maïd,
Come vor my day’s last zight.
Zun-brighten’d maïd “Good night.”
WENT HWOME.
Upon the slope, the hedge did bound
The vield wi’ blossom-whited zide,
An’ charlock patches, yollow-dyed,
Did reach along the white-soil’d ground;
An’ vo’k, a-comèn up vrom meäd,
Brought gil’cup meal upon the shoe;
Or went on where the road did leäd,
Wi’ smeechy doust from heel to tooe.
As noon did smite, wi’ burnèn light,
The road so white, to Meldonley.
An’ I did tramp the zun-dried ground,
By hedge-climb’d hills, a-spread wi’ flow’rs,
An’ watershootèn dells, an’ tow’rs,
