Classic Poem

How dear's the door a latch do shut,
An' geärden that a hatch do shut,
Where vu'st our bloomen cheäks ha' prest
The pillor ov our childhood's rest;
Or where, wi' little tooes, we wore
The paths our fathers trod avore;
Or clim'd the timber's bark aloft,
Below the zingen lark aloft,
The while we heärd the echo sound
Drough all the ringen valley round.

A lwonesome grove o' woak did rise,
To screen our house, where smoke did rise,
A-twisten blue, while yeet the zun
Did langthen on our childhood's fun;
An' there, wi' all the sheäpes an' sounds
O' life, among the timber'd grounds,
The birds upon their boughs did zing,
An' milkmaids by their cows did zing,
Wi' merry sounds, that softly died,
A-ringen down the valley zide.

By river banks, wi' reeds a-bound,
An' sheenen pools, wi' weeds a-bound,
The long-neck'd gander's ruddy bill
To snow-white geese did cackle sh'ill;
An' striden peewits heästen'd by,
O' tiptooe wi' their screamen cry;
An' stalken cows a-lowen loud,
An' strutten cocks a-crowen loud,
Did rouse the echoes up to mock
Their mingled sounds by hill an' rock.

The stars that clim'd our skies all dark,
Above our sleepen eyes all dark,
An' zuns a-rollen round to bring
The seasons on, vrom Spring to Spring,
Ha' vled, wi' never-resten flight,
Drough green-bough'd day, an' dark-tree'd night;
Till now our childhood's pleäces there,
Be gaÿè wi' other feäces there,
An' we ourselves do vollow on
Our own vorelivers dead an' gone.