Classic Poem

Where the western zun, unclouded,
Up above the grey hill-tops,
Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh'ouded.
On the turf bezide the copse,
In zummer weather,
We together,
Sorrow-slighten, work-vorgetten.
Gambol'd wi' the zun a-zetten.

There, by flow'ry bows o' bramble,
Under hedge, in ash-tree sheädes,
The dun-heair'd ho'se did slowly ramble
On the grasses' dewy bleädes,
Zet free o' lwoads,
An' stwony rwoads,
Vorgetvul o' the lashes fretten,
Grazen wi' the zun a-zetten.

There wer rooks a-beäten by us
Drough the air, in a vlock,
An' there the lively blackbird, nigh us,
On the meäple bough did rock,
Wi' ringen droat,
Where zunlight smote
The yollow boughs o' zunny hedges
Over western hills' blue edges.

Waters, drough the meäds a-purlen,
Glissen'd in the evenen's light,
An' smoke, above the town a-curlen,
Melted slowly out o' zight;
An' there, in glooms
Ov unzunn'd rooms,
To zome, wi' idle sorrows fretten,
Zuns did set avore their zetten.

We were out in geämes and reäces,
Loud a-laughen, wild in me'th,
Wi' windblown heäir, an' zunbrown'd feäces,
Leäpen on the high-sky'd e'th,
Avore the lights
Wer tin'd o' nights,
An' while the gossamer's light netten
Sparkled to the zun a-zetten.