THE ZUMMER HEDGE.
As light do gleäre in ev’ry ground,
Wi’ boughy hedges out a-round
A-climmèn up the slopèn brows
O’ hills, in rows o’ sheädy boughs:
The while the hawthorn buds do blow
As thick as stars, an’ white as snow;
Or cream-white blossoms be a-spread
About the guelder-rwoses’ head;
How cool’s the sheäde, or warm’s the lewth,
Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.
When we’ve a-work’d drough longsome hours,
Till dew’s a-dried vrom dazzlèn flow’rs,
The while the climmèn zun ha’ glow’d
Drough mwore than half his daily road:
Then where the sheädes do slily pass
Athirt our veet upon the grass,
As we do rest by lofty ranks
Ov elems on the flow’ry banks;
How cool’s the sheade, or warm’s the lewth,
Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.
But oh! below woone hedge’s zide
Our jaÿ do come a-most to pride;
Out where the high-stemm’d trees do stand,
In row bezide our own free land,
An’ where the wide-leav’d clote mid zwim
’Ithin our water’s rushy rim:
An’ raïn do vall, an’ zuns do burn,
An’ each in season, and in turn,
To cool the sheäde or warm the lewth
Ov our own zummer hedge in blooth.
