Classic Poem

When liate o' nights, above the green,
By thik wold house the moon da sheen,
A liady there, a-hangen low
Her head's, a wa'ken to an' fro,
In robes so white's the driven snow:
Wi' oon yarm down, while oon da rest,
All lily-white, athirt the breast
O' thik poor weepen liady.

The whirdlen win' and whislen squall
Da shiake the ivy by the wall,
An' miake the plyen tree-tops rock,
But never ruffle her white frock;
An' slammen door, an' rottlen lock,
That in thik empty house da zound,
Da never zeem to miake look round
Thik ever downcast liady.

A liady, as the tiale da goo,
That oonce lived there, an' loved too true,
Wer by a young man cast azide:
A mother zad, but not a bride;
An' then her father, in his pride
An' anger, offered oon o' two
Vull bitter things to undergoo,
To thik poor weepen liady:

That she herzuf shood leäve his door.
To darken it agen noo muore;
Ar that her little playsome chile,
A-zent awoy a thousan' mile,
Shood never meet her eyes, to smile
An' play agen; till she in shiame
Shood die, an' leäve a tarnished mame:
A zad varziaken liady!

“Let me be lost,” she cried, “the while
I da but know var my poor chile;”
An' left the huome ov all her pride,
To wander droo the wordle wide,
Wi' grief that vew but she ha, tried;
An' lik' a flower a blow ha broke,
She withered wi' thik deadly stroke,
An' died a weepen liady.

An' she da keep a-comen on,
To zee thik father dead an' gone;
As if her soul cood ha' noo rest,
Avore her teary cheäk's a-prest
By his vargiven kiss. Zoo blest
Be they that can but live in love,
An' vind a pliace o' rest above,
Unlik the weepen liady!