Classic Poem

The dreven scud that overcast
The zummer sky is all a-past,
An' softer air, a-blowen drough
The quiv'ren boughs, do sheäke the vew
Last rain drops off the leaves lik' dew;
An' peäviers, now a-getten dry,
Do steam below the zunny sky
That's now so vast a-cleären.

The sheädes that wer a-lost below
The stormy cloud, ageän do show
Their mocken sheäpes below the light;
An' house-walls be a-looken white,
An' vo'k do stir woonce mwore in zight,
An' busy birds upon the wing
Do whiver roun' the boughs an' zing,
To zee the sky a-clearen.

Below the hill's an ash; below
The ash, white elder-flow'rs do blow:
Below the elder is a bed
O' robinhoods o' blushen red;
An' there, wi' nunches all a-spread,
The haÿè-meäkers, wi' each a cup
O' drink, do smile to zee hold up
The rain, an' sky a-cleären.

'Mid blushen maidens, wi' their zong,
Still draw their white-stemm'd reäkes among
The long-back'd weäles an' new-meäde pooks,
By brown-stemm'd trees an' cloty brooks;
But have noo call to spweil their looks
By work, that God could never meäke
Their weaker han's to underteäke,
Though skies mid be a-cleären.

'Tis wrong vor women's han's to clips
The zull an' reap-hook, speädes an' whips;
An' men abroad, should leäve, by right,
Woone faithful heart at hwome to light
Their bit o' vier up at night,
An' hang upon the hedge to dry
Their snow-white linen, when the sky
In winter is a-cleären.