If theaese day's work an' burnen sky
'V'a-zent hwome you so tired as I,
Let's zit an' rest 'ithin the screen
O' my wold bow'r upon the green;
Where I do goo myself an' let
The evenen aier cool my het,
When dew do wet the grasses bleaedes,
A-quiv'ren in the dusky sheaedes.
There yonder poplar trees do play
Soft music, as their heads do sway,
While wind, a-rustlen soft or loud,
Do stream ageaen their lofty sh'oud;
An' seem to heal the ranklen zore
My mind do meet wi' out o' door,
When I've a-bore, in downcast mood,
Zome evil where I look'd vor good.
O' they two poplars that do rise
So high avore our naighbours' eyes,
A-zet by gramfer, hand by hand,
Wi' grammer, in their bit o' land;
The woone upon the western zide
Wer his, an' woone wer grammer's pride,
An' since they died, we all do teaeke
Mwore ceaere o'm vor the wold vo'k's seaeke.
An' there, wi' stems a-growen tall
Avore the houses mossy wall,
The while the moon ha' slowly past
The leafy window, they've a-cast
Their sheaedes 'ithin the window peaene;
While childern have a-grown to men,
An' then ageaen ha' left their beds,
To bear their childern's heavy heads.