Classic Poem

Why tidden vields an' runnen brooks,
Nor trees in Spring or fall;
An' tidden woody slopes an' nooks,
Do touch us mwost ov all;
An' tidden ivy that do cling
By housen big an' wold, O,
But this is, after all, the thing, —
The pleäce a teäle's a-twold o'.

At Burn, where mother's young friends know'd
The vu'st her maiden neäme,
The zunny knaps, the narrow road
An' green, be still the seäme;
The squier's house, an' ev'ry ground
That now his son ha' zwold, O,
An' ev'ry wood he hunted round
'S a pleäce a teäle's a-twold o'.

The maid a-lov'd to our heart's core,
The dearest of our kin,
Do meäke us like the very door
Where they went out an' in.
'Tis zome'hat touchen that bevel
Poor flesh an' blood o' wold, O,
Do meäke us like to zee so well
The pleäce a teäle's a-twold o'.

When blushen Jenny vu'st did come
To zee our Poll o' nights,
An' had to goo back leätish hwome,
Where vo'k did zee the zights,
A-chatten loud below the sky
So dark, an' winds so cwold, O,
How proud wer I to zee her by
The pleäce the teäle's a-twold o'.

Zoo whether 'tis the humpy ground
That wer a battle viel',
Or mossy house, all ivy-bound,
An' vallen down piece-meal;
Or if 'tis but a scraggy tree,
Where beauty smil'd o' wold, O,
How dearly I do like to zee
The pleäce a teäle's a-twold o'.