Ah! then the grassy-meaeded May
Did warm the passen year, an' gleam
Upon the yellow-grounded stream,
That still by beech-tree sheaedes do stray.
The light o' weaeves, a-runnen there,
Did play on leaves up over head,
An' vishes sceaely zides did gleaere,
A-darten on the shallow bed,
An' like the stream a-sliden on,
My zun out-measur'd time's agone.
There by the path, in grass knee-high,
Wer buttervlees in giddy flight,
All white above the deaeisies white,
Or blue below the deep blue sky.
Then glowen warm wer ev'ry brow,
O' maid, or man, in zummer het,
An' warm did glow the cheaeks I met
That time, noo mwore to meet em now.
As brooks, a-sliden on their bed,
My season-measur'd time's a-vled.
Vrom yonder window, in the thatch,
Did sound the maidens' merry words,
As I did stand, by zingen birds,
Bezide the elem-sheaeded hatch.
'Tis good to come back to the pleaece,
Back to the time, to goo noo mwore;
'Tis good to meet the younger feaece
A-menten others here avore.
As streams do glide by green mead-grass,
My zummer-brighten'd years do pass.