Classic Poem

When ringers, vrom the tower's height,
Did zend their peal o' vallèn sound,
A-floaten off, wi' weaven flight,
To souls upon the hills around,
Though wide the sounds mid be a-zent,
Yet soon or leäte they'd be a-spent,
An' still leäve lands a-reachen wide,
Beyond the vields where they'd a-died.

An' when the zun, wi' burnen light,
Did sheen abroad vrom cloudless skies,
An' Knapton's tow'r, a-gleamen bright,
Did weäne to backward-looken eyes'—
The trav'ler that mid leäve behind
His aïry battlements, would vind
That even in the clearest light,
His sheäpe would vanish out o' zight.

An' zoo, though I noo mwore could hear
His merry peal a-driven by,
Or zee his sheäpely steeple near,
Or weänen grey avore the sky—
Vor seäke o' you a-left behind,
He still did linger in my mind,
An' seem to rise avore my zight
An' lwonesome hearen, day or night.