THOUGH cool avore the sheenèn sky shining

Do vall the sheädes below the copse, shadows

The timber-trees, a-reachèn high,

Ha’ zunsheen on their lofty tops, sunshine

Where yonder land's a-lyèn plow'd,

An’ red, below the snow-white cloud,

An’ vlocks o’ pitchèn rooks do vwold fold

Their wings to walk upon the mwold, earth

While floods be low,

An’ buds do grow,

An’ aïr do blow, a-broad, O. outside

But though the aïr is cwold below

The creakèn copses’ darksome screen,

The truest sheäde do only show

How strong the warmer zun do sheen; shine

An’ even times o’ grief an’ païn,

Ha’ good a-comèn in their traïn,

An’ 'tis but happiness do mark

The sheädes o’ sorrow out so dark.

As tweils be sad, toils

Or smiles be glad,

Or times be bad, at hwome, O.

An’ there the zunny land do lie

Below the hangèn, in the lew, slope, shelter

Wi’ vurrows now a-crumblèn dry,

Below the plowman's dousty shoe; dusty

An’ there the bwoy do whissel sh'ill, tunefully

Below the skylark's merry bill,

Where primrwose beds do deck the zides

O’ banks below the meäple wrides. Clumps

As trees be bright

Wi’ bees in flight,

An’ weather's bright, abroad, O. outside

An’ there, as sheenèn wheels do spin shining

Vull speed along the dousty rwoad, dusty

He can but stan’, an’ wish 'ithin

His mind to be their happy lwoad,

That he mid gaïly ride, an’ goo might

To towns the rwoad mid teäke en drough, him, through

An’ zee, for woonce, the zights behind once

The bluest hills his eyes can vind,

O’ towns, an’ tow'rs,

An’ downs, an’ flow'rs,

In zunny hours, abroad, O.

But still, vor all the weather's feäir,

Below a cloudless sky o’ blue,

The bwoy at plough do little ceäre

How vast the brightest day mid goo; fast

Vor he'd be glad to zee the zun

A-zettèn, wi’ his work a-done,

That he, at hwome, mid still injaÿ enjoy

His happy bit ov evenèn plaÿ,

So light's a lark

Till night is dark,

While dogs do bark, at hwome, O.