Classic Poem

At Lindenore upon the steep,
Bezide the trees a-reachen high,
The while their lower limbs do zweep
The river-stream a-flowen by;
By graegle bells in beds o' blue,
Below the tree-stems in the lew,
Calm air do vind the rwose-bound door,
Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

An' there noo foam do hiss avore
Swift bwoats, wi' water-plowen keels,
An' there noo broad high-road's a-wore
By vur-brought trav'lers' cracklen wheels;
Noo crowd's a-passen to and fro,
Upon the bridge's high-sprung bow:
An' vew but I do seek the door
Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

Vor there the town, wi' zun-bright walls,
Do sheen vur off, by hills o' grey,
An' town-vo'k ha' but seldom calls
O' business there, from day to day:
But Ellen didden leäve her ruf
To be admir'd, an' that's enough —
Vor I've a-vound 'ithin her door,
Feäir Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.