Woone's heart mid leaep wi' thoughts o' jay
In comen manhood light an' gay
When we do teaeke the worold on
Vrom our vore-elders dead an' gone;
But days so feaeir in hope's bright eyes
Do often come wi' zunless skies:
Woone's fancy can but be out-done,
Where trees do sway an' brooks do run,
By risen moon or zetten zun.
Vor when at evenen I do look
All down theaese hangen on the brook,
Wi' weaeves a-leaepen clear an' bright,
Where boughs do sway in yollow light;
Noo hills nor hollows, woods nor streams,
A-voun' by day or zeed in dreams,
Can ever seem so fit to be
Good angel's hwomes, though they do gi'e
But pain an' tweil to such as we.
An' when by moonlight darksome sheaedes
Do lie in grass wi' dewy bleaedes,
An' worold-hushen night do keep
The proud an' angry vast asleep,
When I can think, as I do rove,
Ov only souls that I do love;
Then who can dream a dream to show,
Or who can think o' moons to drow,
A sweeter light to rove below?