An’ vish, wi’ zides o’ zilver-white,
Do flash vrom shoals a dazzlèn light;
An’ alders by the water’s edge,
Do sheäde the ribbon-bleäded zedge,
An’ where, below the withy’s head,
The zwimmèn clote-leaves be a-spread,
The angler is a-zot at noon
Upon the flow’ry bank in June.
Vor all the aiër that do bring
My little meäd the breath o’ Spring,
By day an’ night’s a-flowèn wide
Above all other vields bezide;
Vor all the zun above my ground
’S a-zent vor all the naïghbours round,
An’ rain do vall, an’ streams do flow,
Vor lands above, an’ lands below,
My bit o’ meäd is God’s own boon,
To me alwone, vrom June to June.
EARLY RISÈN.
The aïr to gi’e your cheäks a hue
O’ rwosy red, so feaïr to view,
Is what do sheäke the grass-bleädes gray
At breäk o’ day, in mornèn dew;
Vor vo’k that will be rathe abrode,
Will meet wi’ health upon their road.
But bidèn up till dead o’ night,
When han’s o’ clocks do stan’ upright,
By candle-light, do soon consume
The feäce’s bloom, an’ turn it white.
An’ light a-cast vrom midnight skies
Do blunt the sparklèn ov the eyes.
