Classic Poem

Here once did sound sweet words, a-spoke
In wind that swum
Where ivy clomb,
About the ribby woak;
An' still the words, though now a-gone,
Be dear to me, that linger on.

An' here, as comely vo'k did pass,
Their sheädes did slide
Below their zide,
Along the flow'ry grass,
An' though the sheädes be all a-gone,
Still dear's the ground they vell upon.

But could they come where then they stroll'd,
However young
Mid sound their tongue,
Their sheädes would show em wold;
But dear, though they be all a-gone,
Be sheädes o' trees that linger on.

O ashen poles, a-sheenen tall!
You be too young
To have a-sprung
In days when I wer small;
But you, broad woak, wi' ribby rind,
Wer here so long as I can mind.