How gaÿ the paths be where we do strolly
Along the leäne an’ the hedge’s zide;
But nwone’s a voun’, O,
Up hill or down, O,
So gaÿ’s the road drough the meäd a-mow’d.
An’ when the visher do come, a-drowèn
His flutt’ren line over bleädy zedge,
Drough groun’s wi’ red thissle-heads a-blowèn.
An’ watchèn o’t by the water’s edge;
Then he do love, O,
The best to rove, O,
Along his road drough the meäd a-mow’d.
THE SKY A-CLEAREN.
The drevèn scud that overcast
The zummer sky is all a-past,
An’ softer aïr, a-blowèn drough
The quiv’rèn boughs, do sheäke the vew
Last raïn drops off the leaves lik’ dew;
An’ peäviers, now a-gettèn dry,
Do steam below the zunny sky
That’s now so vast a-cleärèn.
The sheädes that wer a-lost below
The stormy cloud, ageän do show
Their mockèn sheäpes below the light;
An’ house-walls be a-lookèn white,
An’ vo’k do stir woonce mwore in zight,
An’ busy birds upon the wing
Do whiver roun’ the boughs an’ zing,
To zee the sky a-clearèn.
Below the hill’s an ash; below
