As light do gleaere in ev'ry ground,
Wi' boughy hedges out a-round
A-climmen up the slopen brows
O' hills, in rows o' sheaedy boughs:
The while the hawthorn buds do blow
As thick as stars, an' white as snow;
Or cream-white blossoms be a-spread
About the guelder-rwoses' head;
How cool's the sheaede, or warm's the lewth,
Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.
When we've a-work'd drough longsome hours,
Till dew's a-dried vrom dazzlen flow'rs,
The while the climmen zun ha' glow'd
Drough mwore than half his daily road:
Then where the sheaedes do slily pass
Athirt our veet upon the grass,
As we do rest by lofty ranks
Ov elems on the flow'ry banks;
How cool's the sheaede, or warm's the lewth,
Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.
But oh! below woone hedge's zide
Our jay do come a-most to pride;
Out where the high-stemm'd trees do stand,
In row bezide our own free land,
An' where the wide-leav'd clote mid zwim
'Ithin our water's rushy rim:
An' rain do vall, an' zuns do burn,
An' each in season, and in turn,
To cool the sheaede or warm the lewth
Ov our own zummer hedge in blooth.
How soft do sheaeke the zummer hedge—
How soft do sway the zummer zedge—
How bright be zummer skies an' zun—
How bright the zummer brook do run;
An' feaeir the flow'rs do bloom, to feaede
Behind the swayen mower's bleaede;
An' sweet be merry looks o' jay,
By weaeles an' pooks o' June's new hay,
Wi' smilen age, an laughen youth,
Bezide the zummer hedge in blooth.