If I've a-stream'd below a storm,
An' not a-velt the rain,
An' if I ever velt me warm,
In snow upon the plain,
'Twer when, as evenen skies wer dim,
An' vields below my eyes wer dim,
I went alwone at evenen-fall,
Athirt the vields to Ivy Hall.
I voun' the wind upon the hill,
Last night, a-roaren loud,
An' rubben boughs a-creaken sh'ill
Upon the ashes' sh'oud;
But oh! the reelen copse mid groan;
An' timber's lofty tops mid groan;
The hufflen winds be music all,
Bezide my road to Ivy Hall.
A sheaedy grove o' ribbed woaks,
Is Wootton's shelter'd nest,
An' woaks do keep the winter's strokes
Vrom Knapton's evenen rest.
An' woaks ageaen wi' bossy stems,
An' elems wi' their mossy stems,
Do rise to screen the leafy wall
An' stwonen ruf ov Ivy Hall.
The darksome clouds mid fling their sleet.
An' vrost mid pinch me blue,
Or snow mid cling below my veet,
An' hide my road vrom view.
The winter's only jay ov heart,
An' storms do meaeke me gay ov heart,
When I do rest, at evenen-fall,
Bezide the he'th ov Ivy Hall.
There leafy stems do clim' around
The mossy stwonen eaves;
An' there be window-zides a-bound
Wi' quiv'ren ivy-leaves.
But though the sky is dim 'ithout,
An' feaeces mid be grim 'ithout,
Still I ha' smiles when I do call,
At evenen-tide, at Ivy Hall.