Classic Poem

When zummer's burnen het's a-shed
Upon the droopen grasses head,
A-dreven under sheädy leaves
The workvo'k in their snow-white sleeves.
We then mid yearn to clim' the height,
Where thorns be white, above the vern;
An' air do turn the zunsheen's might
To softer light too weak to burn —
On woodless downs we mid be free,
But lowland trees be company.

Though downs mid show a wider view
O' green a-reachen into blue
Than roads a-winden in the glen,
An' ringen wi' the sounds o' men;
The thissle's crown o' red an' blue
In Fall's cwold dew do wither brown,
An' larks come down 'ithin the lew,
As storms do brew, an' skies do frown —
An' though the down do let us free,
The lowland trees be company.

Where birds do zing, below the zun,
In trees above the blue-smok'd tun,
An' sheädes o' stems do overstratch
The mossy path 'ithin the hatch;
If leaves be bright up over head,
When Maÿè do shed its glitt'ren light;
Or, in the blight o' Fall, do spread
A yollow bed avore our zight —
Whatever season it mid be,
The trees be always company.

When dusky night do nearly hide
The path along the hedge's zide,
An' dailight's hwomely sounds be still
But sounds o' water at the mill;
Then if noo feäce we long'd to greet
Could come to meet our lwonesome treäce
Or if noo peäce o' weary veet,
However fleet, could reach its pleäce —
However lwonesome we mid be,
The trees would still be company.