Classic Poem

Why call it dead, wi' life a-vled,
On land wi' lively birds on wing,
An' rooks on high, an' blackbirds nigh
The wheelen zwallows in a ring,
An' vish to zwim, where streams do roam
By bridge an' rock a-beät to foam?

Bezides the rock an' boughless stock
There's little dead as I can zee.
I don't bemwoan a stock or stwone,
But life that seem'd all life to me;
Where oone sweet vaice noo mwore can come
Ageän, the pleäce is ever dumb.