O Lizzie is so mild o' mind,
Vor ever kind, an' ever true;
A-smilen, while her lids do rise
To show her eyes as bright as dew.
An' comely do she look at night,
A-dancen in her skirt o' white,
An' blushen wi' a rwose o' red
Bezide her glossy head.
Feaeir is the rwose o' blushen hue,
Behung wi' dew, in mornen's hour,
Feaeir is the rwose, so sweet below
The noontide glow, bezide the bow'r.
Vull feaeir, an' eet I'd rather zee
The rwose a-gather'd off the tree,
An' bloomen still with blossom red,
By Lizzie's glossy head.
Mid peace droughout her e'thly day,
Betide her way, to happy rest,
An' mid she, all her weanen life,
Or maid or wife, be loved and blest.
Though I mid never zing anew
To neaeme the maid so feaeir an' true,
A-blushen, wi' a rwose o' red,
Bezide her glossy head.