Classic Poem

The win' did blow, the water flow,
Did flow along the gravel stwone,
The weäves wer bright, the cliffs wer white,
Wer white avore the zetten zun,
Where sheäkèn zedge did softly sigh
As you, wi' windblown locks, went by.

The lambs did swing their taïls an' spring,
Did spring about the groun', chalk white,
The smoke wer blue above the yew,
The yew bezide your house in zight;
An' win' did zing wi' sullen sound
Ageän the trees upon the mound.

Where down at mill the wheel wer still,
Wer still an' dripp'd wi' glitt'ren tears,
Wi' dousty poll, up leäne did stroll
The miller's man wi' mill-stunn'd ears;
Where weakly waïlen win' did zwim
By ground wi' ivy'd elems dim.

My work an' way mid faïl or fay,
Or fay as days do vreeze or glow;
I'll try to bear my tweil or ceäre,
Or ceäre along wi' friend or foe,
If, after all, the evenen tide
Do bring me peace where I do bide.