The winter clouds, that long did h… The zun, be all a-blown azide, An’ in the light, noo longer dim, Do sheen the ivy that do clim’ The tower’s zide an’ elem’s stim;

WHEN high hot zuns da strik righ… An’ burn our zweaty fiazen brown, An’ zunny hangens that be nigh Be back’d by hills so blue’s the s… Then while the bells da sweetly ch…

Ah! yesterday, d’ye know, I voun’ Tom Dumpy’s cwoat an’ smock-frock… Below the pollard out in groun’; An’ zoo I slyly stole An’ took the smock-frock up, an’ t…

In leaene the gipsies, as we went A-milken, had a-pitch’d their tent… Between the gravel-pit an’ clump O’ trees, upon the little hump: An’ while upon the grassy groun’

Since I noo mwore do zee your fea… Up steaeirs or down below, I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleae… Where flat-bough’d beech do grow: Below the beeches’ bough, my love,

(Water-lily.) O zummer clote! when the brook’s a… So slow an’ smooth down his zedgy… Upon thy broad leaves so seaefe a-… The water’s top wi’ thy yollow hea…

An’ while I zot, wi’ thoughtvul m… Up where the lwonesome Coombs do… An’ watch’d the little gully slide So crooked to the river-zide; I thought how wrong the Stour did…

As clouds did ride wi’ heaesty fli… An’ woods did swaey upon the heigh… An’ bleaedes o’ grass did sheaeke,… The hedge-row bremble’s swingen bo… I come back hwome where winds did…

Ah! how the looks o’ sky an’ groun… Do change wi’ months a-stealen rou… When northern winds, by starry nig… Do stop in ice the river’s flight; Or brooks in winter rains do zwell…

’Tis merry ov a zummer’s day, When vo’k be out a-haulen hay, Where boughs, a-spread upon the gr… Do meaeke the staddle big an’ roun… An’ grass do stand in pook, or lie

When we in mornen had a-drow’d The grass or russlen hay abrode, The lit’some maidens an’ the chaps… Wi’ bits o’ nunchens in their laps… Did all zit down upon the knaps

At last Jeaene come down stairs,… Wi’ wedden knots upon her breast, A-blushen, while a tear did lie Upon her burnen cheaek half dry; An’ then her Robert, drawen nigh

Ees; uncle had thik small hwomeste… The leaezes an’ the bits o’ mead, Besides the orcha’d in his prime, An’ copse-wood vor the winter time… His wold black meaere, that draw’d…

Ah! John! how I do love to look At theaese green hollor, an’ the b… Among the withies that do hide The stream, a-growen at the zide; An’ at the road athirt the wide

When in the evenen the zun’s a-zin… A drowen sheaedes vrom the yollow… An’ mother, weary, 's a-zot a thin… Wi’ vwolded eaerms by the vire at… Then we do zwarm, O,