The snow-white clouds did float on high
In shoals avore the sheenen sky,
An' runnen weaeves in pon' did cheaese
Each other on the water's feaece,
As hufflen win' did blow between
The new-leav'd boughs o' sheenen green.
An' there, the while I walked along
The path, drough leaeze, above the drong,
A little maid, wi' bloomen feaece,
Went on up hill wi' nimble peaece,
A-leaenen to the right-han' zide,
To car a basket that did ride,
A-hangen down, wi' all his heft,
Upon her elbow at her left.
An' yet she hardly seem'd to bruise
The grass-bleaedes wi' her tiny shoes,
That pass'd each other, left an' right.
In steps a'most too quick vor zight.
But she'd a-left her mother's door
A-bearen vrom her little store
Her father's welcome bit o' food,
Where he wer out at work in wood;
An' she wer bless'd wi' mwore than zwome—
A father out, an' mother hwome.
An' there, a-vell'd 'ithin the copse,
Below the timber's new-leav'd tops,
Wer ashen poles, a-casten straight,
On primrwose beds, their langthy waight;
Below the yollow light, a-shed
Drough boughs upon the vi'let's head,
By climen ivy, that did reach,
A sheenen roun' the dead-leav'd beech.
An' there her father zot, an' meaede
His hwomely meal bezide a gleaede;
While she, a-croopen down to ground,
Did pull the flowers, where she vound
The droopen vi'let out in blooth,
Or yollow primrwose in the lewth,
That she mid car em proudly back,
An' zet em on her mother's tack;
Vor she wer bless'd wi' mwore than zwome—
A father out, an' mother hwome.
A father out, an' mother hwome,
Be blessens soon a-lost by zome;
A-lost by me, an' zoo I pray'd
They mid be speaer'd the little maid.