Classic Poem

Oh hwome, vo'k do tell us, is hwome
be it never so hwomely,
An' Meldon's the hwome where my elders
do sleep by the knowl.

An' there they've a-left me a liven
o' land, where, in zummer,
The haÿè, a-dried grey, is a-stannen
in heap by the knowl.

An' there, in the bright-bleäded eegrass,
or bennets, in Fall-time
My cows do lie down where the river
do creep by the knowl.

An' up on the slope o' the hangen,
by white-rinded ash-trees,
Be linches o' grass an' o' thyme-beds,
wi' sheep by the knowl.

An' down on the west o' my house
is a rook'ry, a-rocken
In trees that be lewth vrom the wind
that do zweep by the knowl.

An' there I have windows a-looken
to viersky'd zunzet,
An' others a-zet where the mornen
do peep by the knowl.

An' though there is noo pleäce but heaven
without any sorrow,
An' I, like my naighbours, in trial
mid weep by the knowl,

Still, while I mid vill, like an hirelen,
the day ov my leäbour,
I'd wish, if my wish idden wicked,
to keep by the knowl.

Zoo if you do vind a day empty
o' work, wi' fine weather,
An' don't mind the leäbour o' climmen
the steep by the knowl,

Come up, an' we'll meäke ourzelves merry
vor woonce all together;
You'll vind that your bed an' your bwoard
shall be cheap by the knowl.