Classic Poem

Ther canne be an olde man andde woman to sitte bye my fir
Lyke harvest aples or corne or wynter candles to
Rypene my eye andde sitte oute clenely andde swetely
I cannotte laye my tablesylver andde lynene andde candles-lyghte
Andde the olde wyne softe rubious as a bryght eye dymmed
Andde the olde wyne softe as candleflayme as yellowe andde clear
Withoutte my flors sqekinge shyely andde my rafters syghinge
The firestone blacke under the ashe andde flayme
Withoutte thys fumblyne for other sesons thys vayne
Reeche for other resons other naymes my darke heade
Wanders a tryfle as heades wille when yongge
Ahe the olde heades easey as olde pypes thum cosy
Blessinges curl snuglye as pypesmoke hyeringge
Withe the slowe gossype offe the chymneye blendynge
Cumforte! Thoughe the winde be herde to grone andde mone
Thoughe the latche shake lyke a desperte leef andde my hearte
Dryve me to her inne the darke andde colde alone. Cumforte!