Sweet Woodley! oh! how fresh an' gay
Thy leaenes an' vields be now in May,
The while the broad-leav'd clotes do zwim
In brooks wi' gil'cups at the brim;
An' yollow cowslip-beds do grow
By thorns in blooth so white as snow;
An' win' do come vrom copse wi' smells
O' graegles wi' their hangen bells!
Though time do dreve me on, my mind
Do turn in love to thee behind,
The seaeme's a bulrush that's a-shook
By wind a-blowen up the brook:
The curlen stream would dreve en down,
But playsome air do turn en roun',
An' meaeke en seem to bend wi' love
To zunny hollows up above.
Thy tower still do overlook
The woody knaps an' winden brook,
An' leaene's wi' here an' there a hatch,
An' house wi' elem-sheaeded thatch,
An' vields where chaps do vur outdo
The Zunday sky, wi' cwoats o' blue;
An' maidens' frocks do vur surpass
The whitest deaesies in the grass.
What peals to-day from thy wold tow'r
Do strike upon the zummer flow'r,
As all the club, wi' dousty lags,
Do walk wi' poles an' flappen flags,
An' wind, to music, roun' between
A zwarm o' vo'k upon the green!
Though time do dreve me on, my mind
Do turn wi' love to thee behind.