When hot-beam'd zuns do strik right down,
An' burn our zweaty feaezen brown;
An' zunny slopes, a-lyen nigh,
Be back'd by hills so blue's the sky;
Then, while the bells do sweetly cheem
Upon the champen high-neck'd team,
How lively, wi' a friend, do seem
The white road up athirt the hill.
The zwellen downs, wi' chalky tracks
A-climmen up their zunny backs,
Do hide green meaeds an' zedgy brooks.
An' clumps o' trees wi' glossy rooks,
An' hearty vo'k to laugh an' zing,
An' parish-churches in a string,
Wi' tow'rs o' merry bells to ring,
An' white roads up athirt the hills.
At feaest, when uncle's vo'k do come
To spend the day wi' us at hwome,
An' we do lay upon the bwoard
The very best we can avvword,
The wolder woones do talk an' smoke,
An' younger woones do play an' joke,
An' in the evenen all our vo'k
Do bring em gwain athirt the hill.
An' while the green do zwarm wi' wold
An' young, so thick as sheep in vwold,
The bellows in the blacksmith's shop,
An' miller's moss-green wheel do stop,
An' lwonesome in the wheelwright's shed
'S a-left the wheelless waggon-bed;
While zwarms o' comen friends do tread
The white road down athirt the hill.
An' when the winden road so white,
A-climmen up the hills in zight,
Do leaed to pleaezen, east or west,
The vu'st a-known, an' lov'd the best,
How touchen in the zunsheen's glow,
Or in the sheaedes that clouds do drow
Upon the zunburnt downs below,
'S the white road up athirt the hill.
What peaceful hollows here the long
White roads do windy round among!
Wi' deaeiry cows in woody nooks,
An' haymeaekers among their pooks,
An' housen that the trees do screen
From zun an' zight by boughs o' green!
Young blushen beauty's hwomes between
The white roads up athirt the hills.