Classic Poem

There, where the willow's leaves wer a-shook
Low in the spring winds, awver the brook,
While the finn'd vish a-turnen did gleam
Zilvery-sceäl'd down low in the stream,
I stood still, while water did flow
Under the bridge's dark-sheäded bow,
While at their height clouds did zwim white
Slowly to windward out o' my zight
—in the leäne.

There, on the grass-green down's leänen zide,
Onward a cloud-sheäde slowly did slide,
Cool rose the wind-stream where the dark speäce
Spread on the groun', an' smote on my feäce,
Up vrom the road a-blowen in clouds
All the white doust droo leafy tree-shouds.
There, in the bright new-broken light,
Come hwome vrom market feäir Lucy White
—in the leäne.

Slowly a blue-reäv'd waggon did ride
Awver the red-spwok'd wheels at the zide,
Slowly a ho'se, wi' low-swingen nose,
Beät on the road his iron shoe-bows;
Light stepp'd the meäre that bore the feäir maïd
Up by her zide so comely a-waïgh'd,
An' at the spot, comely a-zot,
She pull'd her up to walk vrom a trot
—in the leäne.

Corn that wer then all young wi' the leaves
Now is a-bound in red-headed sheaves;
Waters that then flow'd never shall run
Back where their downhill flight had begun;
Under the bridge mid still run a stream,
Awver the bridge mid stalk the slow team;
Lwonesome the hours, darksome the bow'rs;
Lucy's a-gone wi' the wither'd spring-flow'rs
—vrom the leäne.

The still-headed cow don't heed the new feäce
Now at her zide, in feäir Lucy's pleäce,
Though the grey meäre, wi' low-holden head,
Never mid heed who do ride in her stead.
Where she's a-miss'd, an' where she mid be,
Well is a-known to angels an' me;
She's now among their happy throng,
Never vor me to behold ride along
—in the leäne.